-? 


THE  WORKS 

OF 


IVAN  TURGENIEFF 

TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   RUSSIAN   BY 

ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

AND    OTHER   STORIES 


SMOKE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNERS  SONS 
1915 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SPRING    FRESHETS 1 

KNOCK  .   .  h   KNOCK  .   .   .   KNOCK  ...     .     ,     .239 
THE  WATCH 291 


..r  - 

G 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

(1871) 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  merry  years, 
The  happy  days,— 
Like  freshets  in  spring 
They  have  dashed  past ! 

From  an  ancient  Ballad. 

ABOUT  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  re- 
,/jL  turned  to  his  study.  He  dismissed  the  ser- 
vant, struck  a  match,— and,  flinging  himself  into 
an  arm-chair  near  the  fireplace,  he  covered  his 
face  with  both  hands. 

Never  before  had  he  felt  such  fatigue— both 
physical  and  spiritual.  He  had  spent  the  entire 
evening  with  agreeable  ladies,  with  cultured  men : 
some  of  the  ladies  were  handsome,  nearly  all  the 
men  were  distinguished  for  wit  and  talents— he 
himself  had  conversed  with  great  success,  and 
even  brilliantly  .  .  .  and,  nevertheless,  never  be- 
fore had  that  tcedium  vitce  of  which  the  Ro- 
mans talked,  that  "  disgust  with  life,"  taken  pos- 
session of  him  with  irresistible  force,  and  had 
stifled  him.  Had  he  been  a  little  younger  he 
would  have  wept  with  melancholy,  boredom,  irri- 
tation: a  caustic  and  burning  bitterness,  like 
the  bitterness  of  wormwood,  filled  his  soul  to 
overflowing.  Something  importunately-loath- 
some, repulsively-oppressive,  invested  him  on  all 

3 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sides,  like  a  gloomy,  autumnal  night;— and  he 
did  not  know  how  to  rid  himself  of  that  gloom, 
of  that  bitterness.  It  was  useless  to  rely  upon 
sleep  to  do  it:  he  knew  well  that  he  could  not 
sleep. 

He  set  to  meditating  .  .  .  slowly,  languidly, 
and  spitefully. 

He  meditated  upon  the  vanity,  the  uselessness, 
the  stale  falsity  of  everything  human.  All  ages 
of  man  gradually  passed  in  review  before  his 
mental  vision —  (he  himself  had  passed  his  fifty- 
second  birthday  not  long  before) — and  not  one 
of  them  found  any  mercy  at  his  hands.  Every- 
where there  was  the  same  eternal  pouring  of  the 
empty  into  the  void,  the  same  beating  of  the 
empty  air,  the  same  half -conscientious,  half -con- 
scious self-deception,— anything  with  which  to 
soothe  the  child,  so  that  it  might  not  cry, — and 
then,  all  of  a  sudden  old  age  descends  unexpect- 
edly, like  snow  on  the  head, — and  along  with  it, 
that  constantly-augmenting,  all-devouring,  and 
gnawing  fear  of  death  ....  and,  flop  into  the 
abyss!  And  it  is  a  good  thing  if  life  does  wind 
up  in  that  way! — Otherwise,  probably,  before  the 
end,  feebleness,  suffering  will  come  like  rust  on 
grain.  .  .  .  The  sea  of  life  did  not  appear  to  him, 
as  the  poets  describe  it,  covered  with  stormy 
waves;  no: — he  depicted  to  himself  that  sea  as 
imperturbably-smooth,  motionless  and  transpar- 
ent to  even  its  very  dark  bottom;  he  himself  is 
sitting  in  a  small,  cranky  boat, — and  down  yon- 

4  .. 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

der,  on  that  dark,  slimy  bottom,  horrible  mon- 
sters, in  the  likeness  of  huge  fishes,  are  dimly  visi- 
ble: all  the  ills  of  life,  sicknesses,  woes,  mad- 
nesses, poverty,  blindness.  .  .  .  He  gazes:  and 
lo,  one  of  the  monsters  detaches  itself  from  the 
gloom,  rises  higher  and  higher,  grows  more  and 
more  distinct,  more  repulsively-distinct.  .  .  . 
Another  minute — and  the  boat  which  is  resting 
upon  it  will  be  overturned!  But  behold,  it  seems 
to  grow  dim  once  more,  it  retreats,  sinks  to  the 
bottom — and  there  it  lies,  barely  moving  its  gills. 
.  .  .  But  the  fatal  day  will  come  when  it  will 
capsize  the  boat. 

He  shook  his  head,  jumped  up  from  his  chair, 
strode  up  and  down  the  room  a  couple  of  times, 
seated  himself  at  the  writing-table,  and  pulling 
out  one  drawer  after  another,  he  began  to  rum- 
mage among  his  old  papers,  among  ancient  let- 
ters, chiefly  from  women.  He  himself  did  not 
know  why  he  was  doing  this ;  he  was  not  search- 
ing for  anything — he  was  simply  desirous  of  rid- 
ding himself,  by  some  external  activity,  of  the 
thoughts  which  were  oppressing  him.  Unfold- 
ing, at  haphazard,  several  letters  (in  one  of  them 
he  found  some  withered  flowers,  bound  with  a 
faded  ribbon),  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  casting  a  glance  at  the  fireplace,  flung 
them  aside,  prqbably  making  ready  to  burn  all 
this  useless  rubbiSh.  Hastily  thrusting  his  hands, 
now  into  one,  now  into  another  drawer,  he  sud- 
denly opened  his  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent,  and 

5 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

slowly  drawing  forth  a  small  octagonal  casket  of 
ancient  design,  he  slowly  raised  its  lid.  In  the 
casket,  beneath  a  double  layer  of  cotton-wool,  yel- 
lowed with  age,  was  a  tiny  garnet  cross. 

For  several  moments  he  surveyed  this  little 
cross  with  bewilderment — and  all  at  once  he  ut- 
tered a  cry.  ...  It  was  neither  precisely  pity 
nor  yet  joy  which  his  features  expressed.  A 
man's  face  presents  that  sort  of  an  expression 
when  he  chances  suddenly  to  encounter  another 
man,  whom  he  has  long  lost  from  sight,  whom  he 
has  once  tenderly  loved,  and  who  now  unex- 
pectedly starts  up  before  his  vision,  still  the  same 
— yet  all  altered  by  the  years. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  returning  to  the  fire- 
place, seated  himself  once  more  in  his  arm-chair — 
and  once  more  held  his  face  in  his  hands.  .  .  . 
"Why  to-day?  To-day  in  particular?"  he 
thought  to  himself —and  he  recalled  many  things 
which  had  taken  place  long  ago. 

This  is  what  he  called  to  mind  .... 

But  first  we  must  tell  his  name,  patronymic 
and  surname.  He  was  called  Sanin,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch. 

This  is  what  he  called  to  mind  .... 


It  was  the  year  1840.  Sanin  was  in  his  twenty- 
third  year,  and  was  in  Frankfurt,  on  his  home- 
ward road  from  Italy  to  Russia.    He  was  a  man 

6 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

of  small  but  independent  fortune,  almost  totally 
devoid  of  family.  He  possessed  a  few  thousand 
rubles,  which  had  come  to  him  on  the  death  of  a 
distant  relative— and  he  decided  to  spend  them 
abroad,  before  entering  government  service,  be- 
fore definitively  donning  that  official  harness 
without  which  an  existence  free  from  anxiety  was 
inconceivable  for  him.  Sanin  carried  out  his  in- 
tention to  the  letter,  and  managed  matters  so  art- 
fully that  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  in  Frankfurt 
he  had  just  money  left  to  take  him  to  Petersburg. 
In  1840  there  was  only  the  smallest  amount  of 
railways  in  existence;  tourists  travelled  in  stage- 
coaches. Sanin  engaged  a  place  in  the  Bei- 
wagen;  but  the  diligence  did  not  start  until 
eleven  o'clock  at  night.  He  had  a  great  deal  of 
time  on  his  hands.  Fortunately,  the  weather  was 
very  fine— and  Sanin,  after  dining  in  the  then 
renowned  hostelry  "  The  White  Swan,"  set  out  to 
roam  about  the  town.  He  dropped  in  to  have  a 
look  at  Dannecker's  '  Ariadne,"  which  did  not 
please  him  much,  visited  the  house  of  Goethe,  of 
whose  writings,  by  the  way,  he  had  read  only 
"  Werther  "—and  that  in  a  French  translation;  he 
strolled  along  the  banks  of  the  Main,  got  bored,  as 
is  proper  for  a  well-ordered  traveller;  at  last,  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  he  found  himself 
weary,  with  dusty  feet,  in  one  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant streets  of  Frankfurt.  For  a  long  time 
thereafter  he  was  unable  to  forget  that  street. 

7 


SPRING   FRESHETS 

On  one  of  its  not  very  numerous  houses  he  espied 
a  sign:  the  "  Italian  Confectionery  Shop  of  Gio- 
vanni Roselli  "  announced  itself  to  passers-by. 

Sanin  stepped  in  to  drink  a  glass  of  lemonade ; 
but  in  the  first  room,  where,  behind  a  modest 
counter,  on  the  shelves  of  a  painted  cupboard, 
suggestive  of  an  apothecary's  shop,  stood  several 
bottles  with  gilt  labels,  and  a  corresponding  num- 
ber of  glass  jars  filled  with  rusks,  chocolate  cakes, 
and  caramels — in  this  room  there  was  not  a  living 
soul;  only  a  grey  cat  was  blinking  and  purring, 
as  she  opened  and  shut  her  paws  on  a  tall  wattled 
chair  near  the  window, — and,  glowing  vividly  in 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  evening  sun,  a  big  ball  of 
scarlet  wool  lay  on  the  floor,  alongside  an  over- 
turned basket  of  carved  wood.  A  confused  noise 
was  audible  in  the  adjoining  room.  Sanin  stood 
still,  and  after  allowing  the  little  bell  on  the  door 
to  ring  itself  out,  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  voice: 
"Is  there  any  one  here?':  At  that  moment  the 
door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened — and  Sanin 
was  impelled  to  involuntary  amazement. 

II 

Into  the  confectioner's  shop,  with  her  dark  curls 
scattered  over  her  shoulders,  and  bare  arms  ex- 
tended before  her,  ran  impetuously  a  young  girl 
of  nineteen,  and  on  catching  sight  of  Sanin,  in- 
stantly rushed  up  to  him,  seized  him  by  the  hand, 

8 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  drew  him  after  her,  saying  in  a  panting 
voice:  "Quick,  quick,  this  way,  to  the  rescue!" 
Sanin  did  not  immediately  follow  the  girl— not 
because  of  reluctance  to  comply  with  her  request, 
but  simply  from  excessive  surprise — and  re- 
mained, as  it  were,  stubbornly  rooted  to  the  spot : 
in  all  his  life  he  had  never  beheld  such  a  beauty. 
She  turned  toward  him— and  ejaculated,  with 
such  despair  in  her  voice,  in  her  eyes,  in  the  ges- 
ture of  her  clenched  fist:  "  Come,  pray  come!  "— 
that  he  immediately  rushed  after  her  through  the 
open  door. 

In  the  room,  into  which  he  ran  behind  the 
young  girl,  upon  an  old-fashioned  horsehair 
couch,  all  white— white  with  yellowish  reflections, 
like  wax  or  ancient  marble,— lay  a  lad  of  fourteen, 
who  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  young  girl 
and  was,  evidently,  her  brother.  His  eyes  were 
closed ;  the  shadow  of  his  heavy  black  hair  fell  in 
a  patch  upon  his  forehead,  which  seemed  turned 
to  stone,  upon  his  slender,  motionless  eyebrows; 
his  clenched  teeth  were  visible  between  his  blue 
lips.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  breathing;— one 
arm  lay  on  the  floor,  the  other  he  had  thrown 
above  his  head.  The  boy  was  fully  dressed,  and 
his  clothing  was  buttoned  up;  a  tight  neckcloth 
compressed  his  neck. 

The  young  girl  rushed  to  him  with  a  shriek. 
"  He  is  dead,  he  is  dead! "  she  screamed;  '  a  mo- 
ment ago  he  was  sitting  here,  talking  with  me— 

9 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  all  of  a  sudden,  he  fell  down  and  became  mo- 
tionless .  .  .  O  my  God!  can  it  be  that  there  is 
no  help  for  it?  And  mamma  is  not  here!  Panta- 
leone,  Pantaleone,  what  about  the  doctor?"  she 
suddenly  added  in  Italian:  "Didst  thou  go  for 
a  doctor?" 

"  I  did  not  go,  Signora,  I  sent  Luisa,"  rang 
out  a  husky  voice  beyond  the  door, — and  limping 
on  his  crooked  legs,  there  entered  the  room  a  little 
old  man  in  a  lilac  dress-coat  with  black  buttons, 
a  tall  white  neckcloth,  short  nankeen  trousers,  and 
blue  worsted  stockings.  His  tiny  face  was  quite 
concealed  beneath  a  perfect  pile  of  iron-grey 
hair.  Standing  up  stiffly  in  all  directions,  and 
falling  back  again  in  dishevelled  locks,  it  im- 
parted to  the  old  man's  figure  a  likeness  to  a 
crested  hen, — a  likeness  the  more  striking  in  that 
beneath  their  dark-grey  mass  nothing  was  to  be 
distinguished  save  a  sharp-pointed  nose  and 
round,  yellow  eyes. 

"  Luisa  runs  faster,  and  I  cannot  run,"  went 
on  the  little  old  man,  in  Italian,  lifting  his  flat, 
gouty  feet,  clad  in  tall  slippers  with  ribbon  bows, 
alternately, — "but  I  have  brought  some  water." 

In  his  gaunt,  calloused  fingers  he  clutched  the 
long  neck  of  a  bottle. 

"But  meanwhile  £mile  will  die!"  cried  the 
girl,  stretching  out  her  hand  toward  Sanin.— 
"Oh,  sir,  O  mein  Herri — Cannot  you  help  us?' 

"We  must  let  blood— it  is  a  stroke  of  apo- 

10 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

plexy,"— remarked  the  old  man,  who  bore  the 
name  of  Pantaleone. 

Although  Sanin  had  not  the  faintest  under- 
standing of  the  medical  art,  he  knew  one  thing 
for  a  fixed  fact:  lads  of  fourteen  do  not  have  at- 
tacks of  apoplexy. 

'  It  is  a  swoon,  not  an  apoplectic  fit," — said  he, 
addressing  Pantaleone. — "  Have  you  a  brush?" 

The  old  man  raised  his  tiny  face  a  little.— 
"What?" 

T  A  brush,  a  brush," — repeated  Sanin,  in  Ger- 
man and  in  French. 

"  A  brush,"— he  added,  pretending  in  dumb- 
show  that  he  was  cleaning  his  clothes. 

At  last  the  old  man  understood  him. 

"  Ah,  a  brush !  Spazzette!  Of  course  we  have 
a  brush!" 

"  Bring  it  hither;  we  will  take  off  his  coat — and 
rub  him." 

'  Good  ....  Benone!  And  shall  not  we 
pour  water  on  his  head? " 

'  No  .  .  .  afterward ;  go  now,  and  fetch  the 
brush  as  quickly  as  possible." 

Pantaleone  set  the  bottle  on  the  floor,  ran  out 
of  the  room,  and  immediately  returned  with  two 
brushes,  a  hair-brush  and  a  clothes-brush.  A 
curly  poodle  accompanied  him,  and  wagging  his 
tail  briskly,  stared  curiously  at  the  little  old  man, 
the  young  girl  and  even  Sanin— as  though  desir- 
ous of  finding  out  what  all  this  tumult  meant. 

11 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Sanin  promptly  removed  the  coat  of  the  pros- 
trate lad,  unhooked  his  collar,  stripped  up  his 
shirt-sleeves — and  arming  himself  with  the  brush, 
began  to  rub  his  breast  and  arms  with  all  his 
might.  Pantaleone  rubbed  the  hair-brush  over 
his  boots  and  trousers,  with  equal  zeal.  The  girl 
flung  herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  couch,  and 
clutching  her  head  with  both  hands,  without 
winking  an  eyelash,  she  riveted  her  gaze  on  her 
brother's  face. 

Sanin  rubbed  away, — and  surveyed  her  with  a 
sidelong  gaze  as  he  did  so.  Good  heavens!  what 
a  beauty  she  was ! 

Ill 

Her  nose  was  rather  large,  but  handsome,  of  the 
aquiline  type;  her  upper  lip  was  just  barely 
shaded  with  down;  on  the  other  hand,  her  com- 
plexion was  smooth  and  dead-white,  precisely  like 
ivory  or  milky  amber;  the  shining  masses  of  her 
hair  were  like  those  of  Allori's  "  Judith  "  in  the 
Palazzo  Pitti,  —  and  especially  her  eyes,  dark 
grey,  with  a  black  rim  around  the  pupil,  were 
magnificent,  conquering  eyes, — even  now  when 
fright  and  grief  had  dimmed  their  lustre.  .  .  . 
Sanin  involuntarily  called  to  mind  the  wondrous 
land  whence  he  had  just  returned  .  .  .  Yes, 
even  in  Italy  he  had  not  met  anything  like  her! 
The  young  girl  breathed  infrequently  and  un- 

12 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

evenly ;  she  seemed  each  time  to  be  waiting  to  see 
whether  her  brother  would  breathe, 

Sanin  continued  to  rub  him ;  but  he  did  not  look 
at  the  young  girl  alone.  Pantaleone's  original 
figure  also  attracted  his  attention.  The  old  man 
grew  quite  weak,  and  panted  for  breath;  with 
every  stroke  of  the  brush  he  gave  a  leap  and 
a  grunt,  while  his  huge  mass  of  shaggy  hair, 
dampened  with  perspiration,  rocked  from  side  to 
side  like  the  roots  of  a  vast  plant  undermined  by 
water. 

"Do  take  off  his  boots,  at  least," — Sanin  felt 
like  saying  to  him.  .  .  . 

The  poodle,  probably  excited  by  the  unwonted- 
ness  of  what  was  going  on,  suddenly  sank  down 
on  his  forepaws  and  began  to  bark. 

"  Tartaglia,  canaglia!  "—hissed  the  old  man  at 
him.  .  .  . 

But  at  that  moment  the  young  girl's  face  un- 
derwent a  transformation;  her  eyes  grew  larger, 
and  began  to  beam  with  joy.  .  .  .  Sanin  glanced 
round  ....  A  flush  mounted  to  the  face  of  the 
young  man;  his  eyelids  moved  and  his  nostrils 
quivered.  He  inhaled  air  through  his  still 
clenched  teeth,  sighed  .... 

"fimile!"-  cried  the  girl.  .  .  .  "Emilio 
mio! " 

Slowly  the  great  black  eyes  opened.  Their 
glance  was  still  dull,  but  they  were  already  smil- 
ing faintly;  the  same  faint  smile  descended  to 

13 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  pale  lips.    Then  he  moved  his  pendent  arm— 
and  with  a  flourish  laid  it  on  his  breast. 

"Emilio!" — repeated  the  young  girl,  and 
half  rose  to  her  feet.  The  expression  of  her  face 
was  so  strong  and  brilliant  that  it  seemed  as 
though  her  tears  would  spring  forth  or  that  she 
would  break  into  laughter. 

"timile!  What  is  it?  Emile!"— rang  out  a 
voice  outside  the  door — and  with  swift  steps,  a 
neatly-attired  woman,  with  silvery-grey  hair  and 
a  swarthy  complexion,  entered  the  room.  An 
elderly  man  followed  her;  the  head  of  a  maid- 
servant peered  from  behind  his  shoulders. 

The  young  girl  ran  to  meet  them. 

"He  is  saved,  mamma,  he  lives!" — she  ex- 
claimed, convulsively  embracing  the  lady  who 
had  entered. 

"But  what  is  the  matter?"— repeated  the  lat- 
ter. .  .  "  I  am  on  my  way  home,  when  suddenly 
I  meet  the  doctor  and  Luisa.  .  .  .  The  girl 
began  to  relate  what  had  happened,  while  the 
doctor  stepped  up  to  the  sick  boy,  who  was  com- 
ing more  and  more  to  himself — and  still  con- 
tinued to  smile:  he  seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
alarm  which  he  had  caused. 

"  You  have  been  rubbing  him  with  brushes,  I 
see,"— said  the  doctor  to  Sanin  and  Pantaleone, 
— "  and  it  was  well  done.  ...  A  very  good  idea 
....  and  now  let  us  see  what  further  reme- 
dies. .  .  ." 

14 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  felt  the  young  man's  pulse.—"  H'm!  show 
your  tongue ! " 

The  lady  bent  anxiously  over  him.  He  smiled 
more  frankly  than  before,  turned  his  eyes  on  her 
— and  flushed  scarlet.  .  . 

It  occurred  to  Sanin  that  his  presence  was  be- 
coming superfluous ;  he  went  out  into  the  confec- 
tioner's shop.  But  before  he  could  grasp  the 
handle  of  the  street  door,  the  young  girl  again  ap- 
peared before  him,  and  stopped  him. 

"You  are  going  away,"— she  began,  gazing 
caressingly  in  his  face;  "I  will  not  detain  you, 
but  you  must  come  to  us  again  this  evening,  with- 
out fail;  we  are  so  greatly  indebted  to  you, — you 
may  have  saved  my  brother's  life— we  wish  to 
thank  you— mamma  wishes  to  thank  you.  You 
must  tell  us  who  you  are,  you  must  rejoice  with 
us " 

"  But  I  am  setting  out  for  Berlin  to-day," — 
stammered  Sanin. 

'  You  will  have  plenty  of  time,"— returned  the 
young  girl  vivaciously. — "  Come  to  us  an  hour 
hence,  to  drink  a  cup  of  chocolate.  Do  you 
promise?  But  I  must  go  back  to  him!  Will  you 
come?" 

What  was  there  left  for  Sanin  to  do? 

"  I  will,"  he  replied. 

The  beauty  gave  his  hand  a  hasty  pressure,  and 
fluttered  forth— and  he  found  himself  in  the 
street. 

15 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


IV 

When  Sanin,  an  hour  and  a  half  later,  returned 
to  Roselli's  confectionery  shop,  he  was  welcomed 
there  like  a  relative.  Emilio  was  sitting  on  the 
same  couch  on  which  they  had  rubbed  him;  the 
doctor  had  prescribed  some  medicine  for  him,  and 
had  recommended  "  great  caution  in  the  experi- 
ence of  emotion," — as  being  of  a  nervous  tem- 
perament, and  with  a  tendency  to  heart-disease. 
He  had  previously  been  subject  to  fainting  fits; 
but  never  had  an  attack  been  so  prolonged  and  so 
violent.  The  doctor  had  declared,  however,  that 
all  danger  was  over.  £mile  was  dressed  as  befits 
a  convalescent,  in  a  loose  dressing-gown;  his  mo- 
ther had  wound  a  blue  woollen  kerchief  round  his 
neck;  but  he  wore  a  cheerful,  almost  festive  as- 
pect ;  and  everything  round  about  him  also  wore  a 
festive  aspect.  In  front  of  the  couch,  on  a  round 
table  covered  with  a  clean  cloth,  and  surrounded 
by  cups,  caraffes  with  syrup,  biscuits,  and  rolls, 
even  with  flowers,— rose  a  huge,  porcelain  coffee- 
pot filled  with  fragrant  chocolate;  six  slender 
wax  tapers  burned  in  two  antique  silver  cande- 
labra; on  one  side  of  the  divan,  a  reclining  chair 
opened  its  soft  embrace — and  Sanin  was  placed 
in  this  chair.  All  the  inhabitants  of  the  confec- 
tioner's shop,  with  whom  he  had  had  occasion  to 
make  acquaintance  that  day,  were  present,  not 

16 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

excepting  the  poodle  Tartaglia  and  the  cat;  all 
seemed  unspeakably  happy;  the  poodle  even 
sneezed  with  pleasure;  the  cat  alone,  as  before, 
kept  blinking  and  purring.  They  made  Sanin 
explain  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came,  and 
what  was  his  name;  when  he  said  that  he  was 
a  Russian,  both  the  ladies  displayed  some  sur- 
prise, and  even  uttered  an  exclamation, — and  im- 
mediately, in  one  voice,  declared  that  he  spoke 
German  capitally;  but  if  he  found  it  more  con- 
venient to  express  himself  in  French,  he  might 
employ  that  language,  as  both  of  them  under- 
stood it  well,  and  expressed  themselves  well  in  it. 
Sanin  immediately  availed  himself  of  this  sug- 
gestion. "Sanin!  Sanin!"— The  ladies  had 
never  supposed  that  a  Russian  surname  could  be 
so  easily  pronounced.  His  Christian  name, 
"  Dmitry,"  also  pleased  them  greatly.  The  elder 
lady  remarked  that  in  her  youth  she  had  heard  a 
fine  opera:  "  Demetrio  e  Polibio "— but  that 
"  Dmitry  "  was  much  nicer  than  "  Demetrio."  In 
this  manner  did  Sanin  chat  for  about  an  hour. 
The  ladies,  on  their  side,  initiated  him  into  all  the 
details  of  their  own  life.  The  mother,  the  lady 
with  the  grey  hair,  did  most  of  the  talking. 
From  her  Sanin  learned  that  her  name  was  Leo- 
nora Roselli ;  that  she  was  the  widow  of  Giovanni 
Battista  Roselli,  who  had  settled  in  Frankfurt 
twenty-five  years  previously,  as  a  confectioner; 
that   Giovanni   Battista  had  been    a   native   of 

17 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Vicenza,  and  a  very  good,  though  rather  peppery 
and  irritable  man,  and  a  republican  into  the  bar- 
gain! As  she  uttered  these  words,  Signora  Ro- 
selli  pointed  to  his  portrait,  painted  in  oils,  which 
hung  over  the  couch.  We  must  assume  that  the 
artist — "also  a  republican,"  as  Signora  Roselli 
remarked  with  a  sigh— had  not  quite  succeeded 
in  catching  the  likeness,— for  in  his  portrait  the 
late  Giovanni  Battista  was  represented  as  a  sort 
of  grim  and  gloomy  brigand— in  the  style  of  Ri- 
naldo  Rinaldini!  Signora  Roselli  herself  was  a 
native  of  "the  ancient  and  beautiful  city  of 
Parma,  where  there  is  such  a  magnificent  dome, 
painted  by  the  immortal  Correggio!"  But 
through  prolonged  residence  in  Germany,  she 
had  become  almost  a  German.  Then  she  added, 
with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head,  that  all  she 
had  left  was  this  daughter,  and  this  son  (she 
pointed  her  finger  at  them  in  turn)  ;— that  her 
daughter's  name  was  Gemma,  and  her  son's, 
Emilio;  that  they  were  both  very  good  and  obe- 
dient children— especially  Emilio  ....  ("I'm 
not  obedient! "  put  in  her  daughter  at  this  point; 
— "Okh,  thou  art  a  republican  also!"  replied  her 
mother)  ; — that  business  was  not  as  good  now,  of 
course,  as  in  her  husband's  time,  for  he  had  been 
a  great  master  in  the  confectioner's  art  .... 
("  Un  grand'  uomol" — interposed  Pantaleone 
with  a  morose  aspect)  ;  but  that,  nevertheless, 
they  were  able  to  make  a  living,  thank  God ! 

18 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


V 

Gemma  listened  to  her  mother— now  laughing, 
now  sighing,  now  stroking  her  on  the  shoulder, 
again  menacing  her  with  her  finger,  now  glancing 
at  Sanin;  at  last  she  rose,  embraced  her  mother, 
and  kissed  her  on  the  neck,— on  the  throat  just 
under  the  chin,  which  made  the  latter  laugh  a 
great  deal  and  even  squeal.  Pantaleone  was  also 
introduced  to  Sanin.  It  appeared  that  he  had 
formerly  been  an  opera-singer,  in  barytone  parts, 
but  had  long  since  dropped  his  theatrical  occupa- 
tions, and  had  become  something  midway  be- 
tween a  friend  of  the  house  and  a  servant  in  the 
Roselli  family.  Notwithstanding  his  long  resi- 
dence in  Germany,  he  had  acquired  the  German 
language  only  in  an  imperfect  manner,  and  mer- 
cilessly murdered  even  the  words  of  abuse. 
"Ferrofluchto  spiccebubbio!"  was  what  he  called 
nearly  every  German.  But  the  Italian  language 
he  spoke  in  perfection,  being  a  native  of  Siniga- 
glia,  where  is  heard  the  "  lingua  toscana  in  bocca 
romanal'  Emilio  was  obviously  pampering 
himself,  and  surrendering  himself  to  the  agree- 
able sensations  of  a  man  who  has  just  escaped 
danger,  or  is  convalescing ;  and,  moreover,  it  was 
perceptible,  from  all  the  indications,  that  the 
members  of  the  household  spoiled  him  with  pet- 
ting.    He  thanked  Sanin  in  a  bashful  way,  but 

19 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

devoted  himself  chiefly  to  the  syrup  and  the 
candy.  Sanin  was  compelled  to  drink  two  large 
cups  of  superb  chocolate,  and  to  consume  a  re- 
markable amount  of  biscuits;  no  sooner  had  he 
swallowed  one  than  Gemma  offered  him  another 
— and  it  was  impossible  to  refuse!  He  speedily 
felt  himself  quite  at  home :  time  sped  on  with  in- 
credible swiftness.  He  had  to  tell  a  great  deal 
about  Russia  in  general,  about  Russian  society; 
about  the  Russian  peasant — and  especially  about 
the  kazaks;  about  the  War  of  1812,  about  Peter 
the  Great,  the  Kremlin,  Russian  ballads  and 
bells.  Both  of  the  ladies  had  but  a  very  feeble 
conception  of  our  vast  and  distant  fatherland; 
Signora  Roselli,  or,  as  she  was  more  frequently 
called,  Frau  Lenore,  even  amazed  Sanin  with  the 
question:  whether  the  famous  ice-palace  built  in 
St.  Petersburg  during  the  last  century,  concern- 
ing which  she  had  recently  read  such  a  curious 
article — in  one  of  her  deceased  husband's  books 
— "  Bellezze  delle  Arti  " — was  still  in  existence? 
— and  in  response  to  Sanin's  exclamation:  "Can 
it  be  possible  that  you  think  there  is  never  any 
summer  in  Russia!"  Frau  Lenore  replied  that 
up  to  that  time  she  had  depicted  Russia  to  herself 
in  the  following  manner :  eternal  snow,  every  one 
going  about  in  fur  cloaks,  and  everybody  in  the 
military  service — but  remarkable  hospitality,  and 
all  the  peasants  very  obedient!  Sanin  endeav- 
oured to  impart  to  her  and  her  daughter  more  ac- 

20 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

curate  information.  When  the  conversation 
turned  on  Russian  music,  he  was  immediately 
asked  to  sing  some  Russian  air,  and  a  tiny  piano, 
with  black  keys  instead  of  white  and  white  in- 
stead of  black,  which  stood  in  the  room,  was 
pointed  out  to  him.  He  complied  without  fur- 
ther ado,  and  accompanying  himself  with  two 
fingers  of  his  right  hand,  and  three  of  his  left 
(the  thumb,  middle  finger  and  little  finger),  he 
sang,  in  a  thin,  nasal  tenor,  first  "  The  Red  Sa- 
rafan," !  and  then  '  Along  a  Paved  Street." 
The  ladies  praised  his  voice  and  the  music,  but 
went  into  raptures  more  particularly  over  the 
softness  and  melody  of  the  Russian  language 
and  demanded  a  translation  of  the  text.  Sanin 
complied  with  their  request — but  as  the  words 
of  "  The  Red  Sarafan,"  and  particularly  those 
of  "Along  a  Paved  Street "  (sur  une  rue  pavee 
une  jeune  fille  allait  a  Veau — thus  did  he  ren- 
der the  meaning  of  the  original),  could  not  in- 
spire his  hearers  with  a  lofty  idea  of  Russian 
poetry,  he  first  declaimed,  then  translated,  then 
sang  Pushkin's  '  I  Remember  a  Wondrous 
Moment,"  set  to  music  by  Glinka,  whose  couplets 
in  minor  tones  he  slightly  distorted.  The  ladies 
went  into  ecstasies, — Frau  Lenore  even  discov- 
ered a  wonderful  resemblance  between  the  Rus- 
sian language  and  the  Italian.     "  Mnogvenie" 

i  The  sarafan  is  the  frock,  suspended  from  the  shoulders,  of 
peasant  maidens. — Translator. 

21 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

— "o  vieni" — f(co  mn6i',—f(siam  noi"— and  so 
forth.  Even  the  names  Pushkin  (she  pro- 
nounced it  Pussekin)  and  Glinka  sounded  fa- 
miliar to  her.  'Sanin,  in  his  turn,  requested  the 
ladies  to  sing  something:  and  they,  also,  were 
quite  unaffected.  Frau  Lenore  seated  herself  at 
the  piano,  and  in  company  with  Gemma,  she  sang 
several  duettini  and  stomelli.  The  mother  had 
once  had  a  fine  contralto;  the  daughter's  voice 
was  rather  weak,  but  agreeable. 

VI 

It  was  not  Gemma's  voice,  however,  but  the  girl 
herself  that  Sanin  admired.  He  sat  somewhat 
behind  her  and  to  one  side,  and  thought  to  him- 
self that  no  palm-tree— even  in  the  verses  of 
Benediktoff,  who  was  then  the  fashionable  poet, 
— was  capable  of  vying  with  the  slender  ele- 
gance of  her  figure.  And  when,  at  the  sentimen- 
tal notes,  she  rolled  her  eyes  upward,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  there  was  no  heaven  which  would  not 
open  wide  at  such  a  glance.  Even  old  Panta- 
leone,  who  was  leaning  his  shoulder  against  the 
jamb  of  the  door,  with  his  chin  and  mouth  buried 
in  his  capacious  neckcloth,  listened  sedately,  with 
the  air  of  an  expert, — even  he  admired  the  face 
of  the  beautiful  girl,  and  was  amazed  at  it, — and 
yet,  apparently,  he  must  have  been  used  to  it! 
On   finishing   her   duettino   with   her   daughter, 

22 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Frau  Lenore  remarked  that  Emilio  had  a  capital 
voice— genuine  silver— but  that  he  had  now  at- 
tained the  age  when  the  voice  undergoes  a  change 
—  (in  fact,  he  spoke  in  a  sort  of  basso  voice 
which  was  incessantly  breaking)  — and  for  that 
reason,  he  was  forbidden  to  sing;  but  that  Pan- 
taleone  here  might,  in  honor  of  the  visitor,  recall 
his  earlier  days!  Pantaleone  immediately  as- 
sumed an  aspect  of  displeasure,  frowned,  rum- 
pled up  his  hair,  and  announced  that  he  had  long 
since  given  up  all  that  sort  of  thing,  although  he 
really  had  been  able,  in  his  youth,  to  hold  his  own 
— and,  moreover,  in  general,  he  belonged  to  that 
grand  epoch  when  genuine,  classical  singers  ex- 
isted—not to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath 
with  the  squallers  of  the  present  day !  and  a  genu- 
ine school  of  singing;  that  a  laurel  wreath  had 
once  been  presented  to  him,  Pantaleone  Cippa- 
tola,  in  Modena,  and  several  white  doves  had  even 
been  set  free  in  the  theatre  on  that  occasion ;  that, 
among  others,  a  Russian  Prince  Tarbusky — "  il 
Principe  Tarbusski" — with  whom  he  had  been  on 
the  most  intimate  terms,  had  incessantly  invited 
him,  at  supper,  to  Russia,  had  promised  him 
mountains  of  gold,  mountains!  .  .  .  but  that  he 
had  not  been  willing  to  leave  Italy,  the  land  of 
Dante— " il  paese  del  Dante!"— later  on,  of 
course,  unfortunate  circumstances  arose,  he  him- 
self was  incautious.  .  .  .  Here  the  old  man  in- 
terrupted himself,  heaved  a  couple  of  profound 

23 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sighs,  cast  down  his  eyes — and  again  began  to 
talk  about  the  classic  era  of  singing,  about  the 
famous  tenor  Garcia,  for  whom  he  cherished  a 
reverent,  boundless  respect.  "  There  was  a 
man! " — he  exclaimed.  Never  did  the  great  Gar- 
cia— fril  gran  Garcia!" — condescend  to  sing  like 
the  wretched  little  tenors  of  the  present  day — 
the  tenorecci — in  falsetto:  he  always  sang  from 
the  chest,  the  chest,  voce  di  petto,  si!  The  old 
man  dealt  himself  a  stiff  blow  on  his  neckcloth 
with  his  tiny,  lean  hand.  And  what  an  actor!  A 
volcano,  signori  miei,  a  volcano,  un  Vesuvio!  '  I 
had  the  honour  to  sing  with  him  in  the  opera  'dell' 
illustrissimo  maestro  Rossini' — in  '  Otello! '  Gar- 
cia was  Otello— I  was  I  ago— and  when  he  ut- 
tered this  phrase  .  .  .  .  " 

Here  Pantaleone  struck  an  attitude,  and  began 
to  sing  in  a  hoarse  and  quavering,  but  still  pa- 
thetic voice : 

"  L'i.  .  .  .  ra  daver.  ...  so  daver.  .  .  . 

Io  piu  no.  .  .  .  no.  .  .  .  no.  .  .  .  non  temer6! 

The  theatre  quaked,  signori  miei!  but  I  did 
not  stop;  and  I  also  sang  after  him: 

L'i.  .  .  .  ra  daver.  ...  so  daver.  .  .  .  so  il  fato 
Temer  piu  non  dovro ! 

And  all  at  once  he— like  lightning,  like  a  tiger: 
'  Morro  .  ...  ma  vindicato  .  .  .  .  ' 

24 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Or  here  again,  when  he  sang  ....  when  he 
sang  that  celebrated  aria  from  'II  Matrimonio 
Segreto' :  Pria  die  spunti.  .  .  .  Then  he,  il  gran 
Garcia,  after  the  words:  I  cavalli  di  galoppo — 
did  this  on  the  words:  Senza  posa  cacciera — lis- 
ten, how  amazing  it  is,  come  stupe ndo!  Then  he 
did  this.  ..."  The  old  man  tried  to  execute 
some  remarkable  sort  of  fioritura — but  broke  off 
short  on  the  tenth  note,  cleared  his  throat,  and 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  turned  away,  mutter- 
ing:— "Why  do  you  torture  me?"  Gemma 
immediately  sprang  from  her  chair,  and  clapping 
her  hands  loudly,  with  the  cry:  "Bravo!"  ran  to 
poor,  retired  Iago,  and  tapped  him  affectionately 
on  the  shoulders  with  both  hands.  Emile  alone 
laughed  mercilessly.  "  Cet  age  est  sans  pitie" — 
La  Fontaine  has  said. 

Sanin  tried  to  comfort  the  aged  singer,  and 
began  to  talk  with  him  in  the  Italian  tongue — 
(he  had  picked  up  a  little  of  it  during  his  late 
journey) —began  to  talk  about  "II  paese  del 
Dante,  dove  il  si  suona."  This  phrase,  together 
with  "  Lasciate  ogni  speranza,"  constituted  the 
young  tourist's  entire  poetical  baggage  in  Ital- 
ian; but  Pantaleone  did  not  yield  to  his  blan- 
dishments. Plunging  his  chin  more  deeply  than 
ever  into  his  neckcloth,  and  protruding  his 
eyes  morosely,  he  again  resembled  a  bird,  and 
an  enraged  bird,  at  that,— a  crow  or  a  kite. 
Then  fimile, flushing  slightly  and  momentarily,— 

25 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

as  is  generally  the  case  with  petted  children,— 
turned  to  his  sister,  and  said  to  her  that  if  she 
wished  to  entertain  the  guest,  she  could  devise  no- 
thing better  than  to  read  him  one  of  Maltz's 
little  comedies,  which  she  read  so  well.  Gemma 
laughed,  slapped  her  brother's  hand,  and  ex- 
claimed that  he  "  was  always  inventing  some- 
thing of  that  sort!"  Nevertheless,  she  imme- 
diately went  to  her  own  room,  and  returning 
thence  with  a  small  book  in  her  hand,  seated  her- 
self at  the  table,  near  the  lamp,  cast  a  glance 
about  her,  raised  her  finger— as  much  as  to  say: 
"  Silence!  "—a  purely  Italian  gesture — and  be- 
gan to  read. 

VII 

Maltz  was  a  Frankfurt  writer  of  the  '30's,  who, 
in  his  brief  and  lightly  sketched  little  comedies, 
written  in  the  local  dialect,  portrayed  with  amus- 
ing and  dashing,  although  not  profound  humour, 
the  local  Frankfurt  types.  It  appeared  that 
Gemma  really  did  read  capitally — quite  like  an 
actress.  She  imparted  a  distinct  hue  to  every  per- 
sonage, and  preserved  his  character  finely,  putting 
in  play  her  power  of  mimicry,  which  she  had  in- 
herited along  with  her  Italian  blood;  sparing 
neither  her  tender  voice,  nor  her  beautiful  face, 
when  it  became  necessary  to  portray  either  an 
old  woman  who  had  outlived  her  wits,  or  a  stupid 

26 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

burgomaster,— she  made  the  most  mirth-provok- 
ing grimaces,  screwed  up  her  eyes,  wrinkled  her 
nose,  lisped,  squeaked  shrilly.  .  .  .  She  herself 
did  not  laugh  while  she  was  reading;  but  when 
her  auditors  (with  the  exception  of  Pantaleone, 
truth  to  tell:  he  immediately  withdrew  in  dud- 
geon, as  soon  as  it  was  a  question  of  "quello  fer- 
rofluchto  Tedesco"), — when  her  auditors  inter- 
rupted her  with  bursts  of  hearty  laughter,  she 
dropped  the  book  on  her  knees,  emitted  a  ringing 
laugh  herself,  with  her  head  thrown  back— and 
her  black  curls  danced  in  soft  tendrils  on  her 
neck,  and  over  her  quivering  shoulders.  When 
the  laughter  ceased,  she  immediately  raised  her 
book,  and  again  imparting  to  her  features  the 
proper  twist,  seriously  resumed  her  reading. 
Sanin  could  not  recover  from  his  amazement  at 
her;  what  particularly  struck  him  was  this:  by 
what  miracle  could  so  ideally-beautiful  a  face 
suddenly  assume  so  comical,  sometimes  almost 
trivial  an  expression?  Gemma's  rendering  of  the 
roles  of  young  girls — the  so-called  "jeunes  pre- 
mieres"— was  less  satisfactory;  she  was  particu- 
larly unsuccessful  with  the  love  scenes;  she  her- 
self was  conscious  of  this,  and  therefore  imparted 
to  them  a  slight  tinge  of  absurdity— as  though 
she  did  not  believe  in  all  those  rapturous  vows 
and  high-flown  speeches,  from  which,  moreover, 
the  author  himself  refrained,  so  far  as  that  was 
possible. 

27 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Sanin  did  not  observe  how  the  evening  was  flit- 
ting by — and  only  recalled  his  impending  jour- 
ney when  the  clock  struck  ten.  He  sprang  from 
his  chair  as  though  he  had  been  scalded. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  "—asked  Frau 
Lenore. 

'  Why,  I  was  to  have  set  off  to-day  for  Berlin 
— and  I  have  already  secured  my  place  in  the  dili- 
gence!" 

"And  when  does  the  diligence  start? ': 

"At  half -past  ten!" 

"Well,  then  you  will  not  catch  it,"— remarked 
Gemma;  "stay  .  .  .  and  I  will  read  some 
more." 

"  Did  you  pay  all  the  money  down,  or  did  you 
merely  make  a  deposit?" — inquired  Frau  Le- 
nora. 

"I  paid  all!" — cried  Sanin,  with  a  sorry 
grimace. 

Gemma  looked  at  him,  narrowed  her  eyes— 
and  laughed,  but  her  mother  reproved  her. — 
"  The  young  man  has  spent  his  money  for  no- 
thing,— and  thou  laughest!" 

"Never  mind!"— replied  Gemma;— "it  will 
not  ruin  him,  and  we  will  try  to  console  him. 
Would  you  like  some  lemonade? " 

Sanin  drank  a  glass  of  lemonade,  Gemma  be- 
gan again  on  Maltz — and  again  everything 
flowed  on  as  smoothly  as  though  it  had  been  oiled. 

28 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  Sanin  began  to  take 
leave. 

'  Now  you  must  remain  for  several  days  in 
Frankfurt,"— Gemma  said  to  him:  "  what 's  your 
hurry?  Things  will  be  no  jollier  in  any  other 
town."— She  paused.  "  Really,  they  will  not,"— 
she  added,  smiling.  Sanin  made  no  reply  and 
reflected  that,  in  view  of  the  emptiness  of  his 
purse,  he  would  be  compelled,  willy-nilly,  to  re- 
main in  Frankfurt,  until  an  answer  should  arrive 
from  a  friend  in  Berlin,  to  whom  he  contemplated 
applying  for  money. 

'  Stay,  do  stay,"— Frau  Lenore  added  her  en- 
treaties. '  We  will  introduce  you  to  Gemma's 
betrothed,  Herr  Karl  Kliiber.  He  could  not 
come  to-day,  because  he  is  very  busy  in  his  shop 
....  surely  you  must  have  noticed  in  the  Zeil 
the  largest  shop  for  cloths  and  silken  materials? 
Well,  he  is  the  chief  man  there.  But  he  will  be 
very  glad  to  be  presented  to  you." 

This  piece  of  information  chagrined  Sanin 
somewhat— God  knows  why.  "That  betrothed 
is  a  lucky  fellow ! "  flashed  through  his  mind.  He 
glanced  at  Gemma— and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  descried  a  mocking  expression  in  her  eyes. 
He  began  to  take  leave. 

'  Until  to-morrow?  It  is  until  to-morrow,  is  it 
not?" — asked  Frau  Lenore. 

"  Until  to-morrow ! "  articulated  Gemma,  not 

29 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  an  interrogative  but  in  an  affirmative  tone,  as 
though  it  could  not  be  otherwise. 

"Until  to-morrow!" — responded  Sanin. 

Emile,  Pantaleone,  and  the  poodle  Tartaglia 
escorted  him  to  the  corner  of  the  street.  Panta- 
leone could  not  refrain  from  expressing  his  dis- 
pleasure over  Gemma's  reading. 

"  She  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself!  She 
writhes  and  squeals — una  caricatura!  She  ought 
to  personate  Merope  or  Clytemnestra— some- 
thing grand,  tragic — but  she  mimics  some  mis- 
erable German  female!  I  can  do  that  myself 
.  .  .  .  '  Mertz,  hertz,  smertzf " —he  added,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  thrusting  forward  his  face,  and 
spreading  out  his  fingers.  Tartaglia  began  to 
bark  at  him,  and  Emile  burst  into  loud  laughter. 
The  old  man  turned  back  abruptly. 

Sanin  returned  to  his  hostelry,  "  The  White 
Swan  "  (he  had  left  his  things  there,  in  the  gen- 
eral room) ,  in  a  decidedly  confused  state  of  mind. 
All  those  German-French-Italian  conversations 
were  fairly  ringing  in  his  ears. 

"An  affianced  bride!"— he  whispered,  as  he 
lay  in  bed,  in  the  modest  chamber  assigned  to  him. 
'  But  what  a  beauty!    But  why  did  I  stay? ' 

Nevertheless,  on  the  following  day,  he  des- 
patched a  letter  to  his  friend  in  Berlin., 


30 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


VIII 

Before  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  dressed  a 
waiter  announced  to  him  the  arrival  of  two  gen- 
tlemen. One  of  them  turned  out  to  be  Emile; 
the  other,  a  stately  well-grown  young  man,  with 
an  extremely  handsome  face,  was  Herr  Karl 
Kluber,  the  betrothed  of  the  lovely  Gemma. 

We  are  at  liberty  to  infer  that,  at  that  time, 
there  was  not,  in  a  single  shop  in  the  whole  of 
Frankfurt,  so  polite,  decorous,  dignified,  and 
amiable  a  head-clerk  as  Herr  Kluber  showed 
himself  to  be.  The  irreproachableness  of  his 
toilet  equalled  the  dignity  of  his  demeanour,  the 
elegance — somewhat  affected  and  constrained, 
it  is  true,  after  the  English  fashion  (he  had 
spent  a  couple  of  years  in  England) — but, 
nevertheless,  engaging  elegance  of  his  manners! 
At  the  very  first  glance  it  became  clear  that 
this  handsome,  rather  stiff,  excellently  educated 
and  capitally  washed  young  man  was  accus- 
tomed to  obey  his  superiors  and  to  command  his 
inferiors,  and  that  behind  the  counter  of  his 
shop  he  was  bound  to  evoke  the  respect  even  of 
his  patrons!  As  to  his  supernatural  honesty 
there  could  not  exist  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  A 
glance  at  his  stiffly-starched  cuffs  was  all  that 
was  required.  And  his  voice  proved  to  be  just 
what  was  to  have  been  expected:  thick  and  self- 

81 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

confidently-succulent,  but  not  too  loud,  with 
even  a  certain  caressing  quality  in  the  timbre. 
Such  a  voice  is  particularly  well  adapted  for 
issuing  orders  to  subordinate  clerks:  "  Show  that 
piece  of  crimson  Lyons  velvet!" — or,  'Give 
the  lady  a  chair!  " 

Herr  Kluber  began  by  introducing  himself, 
during  which  operation  he  bent  his  form  in  so 
noble  a  manner,  moved  his  feet  so  agreeably, 
and  clicked  one  heel  against  the  other  so  cour- 
teously, that  one  was  bound  to  feel:  "  This  man's 
body-linen  and  spiritual  qualities  are  of  the  first 
order!'  The  elaborate  finish  of  his  bare  right 
hand—  (in  his  left,  clad  in  a  glove  of  undressed 
kid,  he  held  a  hat  polished  like  a  mirror,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  lay  the  other  glove) — the  elab- 
orate finish  of  that  right  hand,  which  he  mod- 
estly but  firmly  offered  to  Sanin, — exceeded  all 
belief:  every  nail  was  perfection  in  its  way! 
Then  he  announced,  in  the  choicest  of  German, 
that  he  had  wished  to  express  his  respects  and 
his  gratitude  to  Monsieur  the  Stranger,  who  had 
rendered  such  an  important  service  to  his  future 
relative,  the  brother  of  his  affianced  bride ;  where- 
upon, he  waved  his  left  hand,  which  held  his  hat, 
in  the  direction  of  Emile,  who  seemed  to  feel 
ashamed,  and,  turning  away  to  the  window, 
stuck  his  finger  in  his  mouth.  Herr  Kluber 
added  that  he  should  consider  himself  happy 
if  he,  on  his  part,  were  in  a  position  to  do  any- 

32 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

thing  agreeable  for  Monsieur  the  Stranger. 
Sanin  replied,  not  without  some  difficulty,  also 
in  German,  that  he  was  delighted  .  .  .  that  his 
service  had  been  of  very  slight  importance  .... 
and  begged  his  visitors  to  be  seated.  Herr 
Kliiber  thanked  him— and,  immediately  draw- 
ing aside  the  skirts  of  his  frock-coat,  dropped 
into  a  chair— but  dropped  so  lightly,  and  held 
himself  upon  it  in  so  precarious  a  manner,  that 
it  was  impossible  not  to  think:  "  This  man  has 
seated  himself  out  of  politeness — and  will  flutter 
off  again  in  another  minute!  "  And,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  did  flutter  off  immediately,  and  shift- 
ing bashfully  from  one  foot  to  the  other  a 
couple  of  times,  as  though  dancing,  he  an- 
nounced that,  unhappily,  he  could  not  remain 
longer,  for  he  was  hastening  to  his  shop — busi- 
ness before  everything!— but,  as  to-morrow  was 
Sunday,  he  had,  with  the  consent  of  Frau  Le- 
nore  and  Fraulein  Gemma,  arranged  a  plea- 
sure-party to  Soden,  to  which  he  had  the  honour 
of  inviting  Monsieur  the  Stranger— and  he 
cherished  the  hope  that  the  latter  would  not  re- 
fuse to  adorn  it  with  his  presence.  Sanin  did  not 
refuse  to  adorn  it— and  Herr  Kltiber  made  his 
obeisance  a  second  time,  and  withdrew,  pleas- 
antly fluttering  his  trousers  of  the  most  tender 
greyish-yellow  hue,  and  squeaking  the  soles  of 
his  very  new  boots  in  an  equally  agreeable 
manner. 

33 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


IX 

Emile,  who  continued  to  stand  with  his  face  to 
the  window,  even  after  Sanin's  invitation  to 
"  be  seated  " — wheeled  round  to  the  left,  as  soon 
as  his  future  relative  was  gone — and,  grimac- 
ing and  blushing  in  childish  fashion,  asked  Sa- 
nin  whether  he  might  remain  a  little  longer  with 
him.  "  I  am  much  better  to-day," — he  added, — 
"  but  the  doctor  has  forbidden  me  to  work." 

"Pray,  remain!  You  do  not  incommode  me 
in  the  least,"— instantly  exclaimed  Sanin,  who, 
like  all  true  Russians,  was  delighted  to  grasp  at 
the  first  pretext  which  presented  itself  to  escape 
being  forced  to  do  anything  himself. 

Emile  thanked  him — and,  in  the  very  briefest 
space  of  time,  had  made  himself  entirely  at 
home  both  with  him  and  with  his  quarters.  He 
scrutinised  his  things,  and  asked  questions  about 
nearly  every  one  of  them:  where  he  had  bought 
this,  and  what  were  its  merits?  He  helped  him 
to  shave,  remarking  incidentally  that  he  made 
a  mistake  in  not  allowing  his  moustache  to  grow ; 
—he  finally  imparted  to  him  a  multitude  of  de- 
tails concerning  his  mother,  his  sister,  Pantale- 
one,  even  the  poodle  Tartaglia,  and  about  their 
whole  manner  of  life.  Every  trace  of  timidity 
had  vanished  from  Emile;  he  suddenly  experi- 
enced a  remarkable  attraction  toward   Sanin — 

34 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  that  not  in  the  least  because  the  latter  had 
saved  his  life  the  day  before,  but  because  he  was 
such  a  sympathetic  man!  He  made  no  delay  in 
confiding  all  his  secrets  to  Sanin.  He  insisted 
with  special  fervour  on  the  fact  that  his  mamma 
was  positively  set  upon  making  a  merchant  of 
him — while  he  knew  for  a  certainty  that  he  was 
born  to  be  an  artist,  a  musician,  a  singer ;  that  the 
theatre  was  his  true  vocation;  that  even  Pantale- 
one  encouraged  him,  but  that  Herr  Kluber  up- 
held his  mamma,  over  whom  he  had  great  in- 
fluence ;  that  the  very  idea  of  making  a  merchant 
of  him  belonged  to  Herr  Kluber,  according  to 
whose  conceptions  nothing  in  the  world  could 
compare  with  the  calling  of  the  merchant!  To 
sell  cloth  and  velvet,  and  swindle  the  public,  to 
get  from  it  "Narren-  oder  Russen-Preise"  (fools' 
or  Russians'  prices) —that  was  his  ideal!1 

"Well,  never  mind!  now  we  must  go  to  our 
house!  "—exclaimed  he,  as  soon  as  Sanin  had 
completed  his  toilet,  and  had  written  his  letter  to 
Berlin. 

"It  is  early  yet,"— remarked  Sanin. 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"— said  Emile, 
coaxingly.  "Come  along!  We  will  stop  at 
the  post-office— and  from  there  go  on  to  our 

1  In  days  gone  by— yes,  and  probably  even  now— there  has  been 
no  change  in  this  respect:  when,  beginning  with  the  month  of  May, 
a  multitude  of  Russians  made  their  appearance  in  Frankfurt,  the 
prices  rose  in  all  the  shops,  and  received  the  title  of  "  Bussen-"— 
or,  alas !— "  Narren-Preite."— Author's  Note. 

35 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

house.  Gemma  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you! 
You  shall  breakfast  with  us  ...  .  you  can 
say  something  to  mamma  about  me,  about  my 
career.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  come  on,  then,"— said  Sanin — and 
they  set  out. 

X 

Gemma  really  was  delighted  to  see  him,  and 
Frau  Lenore  greeted  him  in  a  very  friendly  wise. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  produced  a  good  im- 
pression on  all  of  them  the  preceding  evening. 
Emile  ran  to  see  about  breakfast,  with  a  prelim- 
inary whisper  in  Sanin's  ear:  "Don't  forget!' 

"  I  will  not,"— replied  Sanin. 

Frau  Lenore  was  not  feeling  quite  well:  she 
was  suffering  from  a  sick  headache — and,  half 
reclining  in  an  arm-chair,  she  tried  to  avoid  mov- 
ing. Gemma  wore  a  loose  yellow  morning- 
gown,  girt  with  a  black  leather  belt;  she,  also, 
appeared  fatigued,  and  had  grown  a  little  pale; 
dark  circles  shadowed  her  eyes,  but  their  bril- 
liancy was  not  diminished  thereby,  and  her  pal- 
lor imparted  a  certain  mystery  and  charm  to  the 
classic  severity  of  her  features.  Sanin  was  par- 
ticularly impressed  that  day  by  the  elegant 
beauty  of  her  hands.  When  she  adjusted  and 
held  up  with  them  her  dark,  lustrous  curls  he 
could  not  tear  his  eyes  from  her  fingers,  slender 

36 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  long,  and  standing  apart  from  one  another, 
as  in  Raffaele's  "  Fornarina." 

It  was  very  hot  out  of  doors.  After  break- 
fast Sanin  started  to  go  away,  but  he  was  told 
that  on  such  a  day  it  was  better  not  to  move 
from  one  spot— and  he  assented;  he  remained. 
In  the  rear  room,  in  which  he  sat  with  his  host- 
esses, coolness  reigned;  the  windows  opened 
upon  a  tiny  garden,  overgrown  with  acacias.  A 
multitude  of  bees,  wasps,  and  bumble-bees 
hummed  sturdily  and  greedily  in  their  thick 
branches,  studded  with  golden  flowers;  through 
the  half -closed  shutters  and  lowered  shades  that 
unceasing  sound  penetrated  into  the  room:  it 
spoke  of  the  sultry  heat  disseminated  in  the 
outer  air— and  the  coolness  of  the  closed  and 
comfortable  dwelling  became  all  the  more  sweet 
by  reason  of  it. 

As  on  the  preceding  evening,  Sanin  talked 
a  great  deal,  but  not  about  Russia,  and  not  about 
Russian  life.  Desirous  of  gratifying  his  young 
friend,  who  was  sent  off  to  Herr  Kliiber  im- 
mediately after  breakfast,  to  practise  book- 
keeping, he  turned  the  conversation  upon  the 
comparative  advantages  and  disadvantages  of 
art  and  commerce.  He  was  not  surprised  that 
Frau  Lenore  upheld  the  side  of  commerce— he 
had  expected  that;  but  Gemma  also  shared  her 
opinion. 

"  If    you    are    an    artist,— and    especially    a 

37 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

singer," — she  asserted,  with  an  energetic  down- 
ward movement  of  her  hand,—"  you  must,  with- 
out fail,  be  in  the  first  place !  The  second  is  good 
for  nothing;  and  who  knows  whether  you  can 
attain  to  the  first  place?" — Pantaleone,  who 
was  also  taking  part  in  the  conversation —  (in  his 
quality  of  ancient  servitor  and  an  old  man,  he 
was  even  permitted  to  sit  on  a  chair  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  mistress;  the  Italians,  in  general,  are 
not  strict  as  to  etiquette)  — Pantaleone,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  stood  up  stoutly  for  art.  Truth 
to  tell,  his  arguments  were  decidedly  feeble.  He 
talked  chiefly  about  the  necessity,  first  of  all,  of 
possessing  un  certo  estro  dfinspirazione — a  cer- 
tain impetuosity  of  inspiration.  Frau  Lenore 
observed  to  him  that  he  himself,  of  course,  did 
possess  that  "estro" — and  yet  .  .  .  .  "I  had 
enemies,"— remarked  Pantaleone,  morosely.— 
"Well,  but  how  dost  thou  know"— (the  Ital- 
ians, as  every  one  knows,  easily  fall  into  address- 
ing as  "  thou  ")  — "  that  Emile  also  will  not  have 
enemies,  even  if  that  f estro'  should  be  discov- 
ered in  him?  "— "  Well,  then,  make  a  shop- 
keeper out  of  him,"— said  Pantaleone,  angrily. 
— "  But  Giovan'  Battista  would  not  have  acted 
so,  even  if  he  was  a  confectioner  himself!  " — 
"  Giovan'  Battista,  my  husband,  was  a  sensible 
man— and  even  if  he  was  tempted  in  his 
youth  .  .  .  ."  But  the  old  man  would  no 
longer  listen,  and  took  himself  off,  after  having 

38 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

once  more  said  reproachfully:  "Ah!  Giovan' 
Battista!"  .  .  .  Gemma  exclaimed  that  if 
Emile  felt  himself  a  patriot,  and  wished  to  con- 
secrate all  his  forces  to  the  emancipation  of 
Italy,— of  course,  for  such  a  lofty  and  sacred 
aim  a  safe  future  might  be  sacrificed— but  not 
for  the  theatre!  At  this  point,  Frau  Lenore  be- 
gan excitedly  to  entreat  her  daughter  not  to  lead 
her  brother  astray,  at  least, — and  to  be  content 
with  the  fact  that  she  herself  was  such  a  desper- 
ate republican!  After  uttering  these  words, 
Frau  Lenore  groaned,  and  began  to  complain  of 
her  head,  which  "  was  ready  to  burst."  (Frau 
Lenore,  out  of  respect  for  her  guest,  talked  in 
French  to  her  daughter.) 

Gemma  immediately  began  to  tend  her, 
breathed  softly  on  her  brow,  first  moistening  it 
with  eau  de  cologne,  softly  kissed  her  cheeks, 
laid  her  head  on  a  cushion,  forbade  her  to  speak 
—and  kissed  her  again.  Then,  turning  to  Sanin, 
she  began  to  tell  him,  in  a  half -jesting,  half- 
moved  tone,  what  a  splendid  mother  she  had, 
and  what  a  beauty  she  had  been !  "  Why  do  I 
say,  '  has  been ! '  she  is  charming  even  now. 
Look,  look,  what  eyes  she  has! ' 

Gemma  immediately  pulled  from  her  pocket 
a  white  handkerchief,  covered  her  mother's  face 
with  it— and  slowly  lowering  the  edge  from 
above  downward,  gradually  revealed  the  fore- 
head, the  eyebrows,  and  the  eyes  of  Frau  Lenore. 

39 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

She  paused,  and  requested  her  to  open  them. 
Her  mother  obeyed;  Gemma  cried  aloud  with 
rapture  (Frau  Lenore's  eyes  really  were  very 
handsome)  —and  swiftly  slipping  the  handker- 
chief past  the  lower,  less  regular  portion  of  her 
mother's  face,  she  began  to  kiss  her  again.  Frau 
Lenore  laughed,  and  turned  slightly  away,  and 
thrust  her  daughter  from  her  with  some  little 
force.  The  latter  pretended  to  wrestle  with  her 
mother,  and  nestled  up  to  her— yet  not  cat- wise, 
or  in  the  French  manner,  but  with  that  Italian 
grace,  in  which  the  presence  of  strength  is  al- 
ways to  be  felt. 

At  last  Frau  Lenore  declared  that  she  was 
weary.  .  .  .  Then  Gemma  immediately  advised 
her  to  take  a  little  nap,  there,  in  her  chair, — "  and 
the  Russian  gentleman  and  I  .  .  avec  le  mon- 
sieur russe'— will  be  so  quiet,  so  quiet— like  lit- 
tle mice  ....  comme  des  petits  souris."  Frau 
Lenore  smiled  at  her  in  reply,  closed  her  eyes, 
and  after  drawing  a  few  long  breaths,  fell  into 
a  doze. 

Gemma  briskly  dropped  upon  a  bench  beside 
her  and  made  no  further  movement,  except  that, 
from  time  to  time,  she  raised  the  finger  of  one 
hand  to  her  lips — with  the  other,  she  was  support- 
ing the  cushion  under  her  mother's  head — and 
hissed  in  a  barely-audible  manner,  casting  a  side- 
long glance  at  Sanin,  when  the  latter  permitted 
himself  the  slightest  movement.    It  ended  in  his 

40 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

becoming  as  still  as  death,  and  sitting  immovably, 
as  though  enchanted,  and  with  all  the  powers  of 
his  soul  admiring  the  picture  which  was  presented 
to  him  by  this  half -dark  room,  where  here  and 
there,  like  brilliant  spots,  glowed  fresh,  magnifi- 
cent roses,  placed  in  antique,  green  glasses— and 
that  slumbering  woman,  with  modestly-folded 
hands,  and  a  kind,  weary  face,  framed  in  the 
snowy  white  of  the  pillow,  and  that  young,  alertly- 
watchful  and  likewise  kind,  clever,  pure,  and  un- 
speakably-beautiful being,  with  those  deep  black 
eyes,  filled  with  shadow  and  yet  beaming.  .  .  . 
What  was  it?  A  dream?  A  fairy-tale?  And 
how  came  he  there? 

XI 

The  little  bell  tinkled  over  the  outer  door.  A 
young  peasant  lad,  in  a  fur  cap  and  a  red  waist- 
coat, entered  the  confectionery  shop  from  the 
street.  From  early  morning,  not  a  single  cus- 
tomer had  even  peeped  into  it.  .  .  .  "That  's  the 
way  we  do  business!  "— Frau  Lenore  had  re- 
marked to  Sanin,  with  a  sigh,  during  breakfast. 
She  continued  to  sleep ;  Gemma  was  afraid  to  re- 
move her  hand  from  the  pillow,  and  whispered  to 
Sanin:  "  Go,  trade  for  me! "  Sanin  immediately 
stole  out  on  tiptoe  to  the  shop.  The  lad  wanted 
a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  mint  lozenges.  —  "  How 
much  shall  I  charge  him?  "—Sanin  asked  Gemma 

41 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  a  whisper,  through  the  door.—"  Six  kreutzers !" 
— she  replied,  in  a  corresponding  whisper.  Sa- 
nin  weighed  out  a  quarter  of  a  pound,  hunted  up 
some  paper,  made  a  horn  of  it,  wrapped  up  the 
lozenges,  spilled  them,  wrapped  them  up  again, 
spilled  them  again,  and  finally  delivered  them, 
and  received  the  money.  .  .  .  The  boy  stared  at 
him  in  amazement,  twisting  his  cap  about  on  his 
belly,  and  in  the  adjoining  room,  Gemma  stopped 
up  her  mouth,  and  swooned  with  laughter.  Be- 
fore that  customer  could  retire,  another  made  his 
appearance,  then  a  third.  ..."  Evidently,  I 
bring  luck!  "  thought  Sanin.  The  second  asked 
for  a  glass  of  orgeat ;  the  third,  for  half  a  pound 
of  candy.  Sanin  waited  on  them,  rattling  the 
spoons  with  zeal,  setting  out  saucers,  and  boldly 
dipping  his  fingers  into  drawers  and  jars.  On 
reckoning  up,  it  appeared  that  he  had  asked  too 
little  for  the  orgeat,  and  had  charged  two  kreut- 
zers too  much  for  the  candy.  Gemma  did  not 
cease  to  laugh  quietly,  and  Sanin  was  conscious 
of  an  unwonted,  peculiarly  happy  frame  of  mind. 
It  seemed  as  though  he  could  stand  like  that  be- 
hind a  counter  all  his  life,  and  deal  out  orgeat 
and  candy,  while  such  a  lovely  being  was  watch- 
ing him  from  behind  the  door  with  eyes  full  of 
friendly  ridicule;  and  the  summer  sun,  forcing 
its  way  through  the  dense  foliage  of  the  chestnut- 
trees  which  grew  in  front  of  the  windows,  filled 
the  whole  room  with  the  greenish-golden  rays  of 

42 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

noonday,  with  noonday  shadows,  and  the  heart 
grew  tender  with  the  sweet  languor  of  idleness, 
freedom  from  care,  and  youth— early  youth! 

The  fourth  customer  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee; 
he  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  Pantaleone 
(l^mile  had  not  yet  returned  from  Herr  Kliiber's 
shop).  Sanin  seated  himself  again  by  Gemma's 
side.  Frau  Lenore  continued  to  sleep,  to  the 
great  satisfaction  of  her  daughter. — "  Mamma's 
headache  passes  off  while  she  sleeps,"— she  re- 
marked. Sanin  began  to  talk— in  a  whisper,  as 
before,  of  course— about  his  "trade";  inquired 
very  seriously  as  to  the  prices  of  the  various  "  con- 
fectionery" wares;  Gemma,  in  an  equally  seri- 
ous manner,  told  him  the  prices,  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, both  laughed  inwardly  and  heartily,  as 
though  conscious  that  they  were  playing  a  very 
amusing  comedy.  All  at  once,  in  the  street,  a 
hand-organ  struck  up  the  air :  "  Durch  die  F elder, 
durch  die  Auen."  .  .  .  The  plaintive  sounds 
wailed  quavering  and  whistling  on  the  motionless 
air.  Gemma  shuddered.  .  .  .  '  He  will  waken 
mamma !  "  Sanin  instantly  ran  out  into  the  street, 
thrust  several  kreutzers  into  the  hand  of  the  or- 
gan-grinder—and made  him  stop  and  go  away. 
When  he  returned,  Gemma  thanked  him  with  a 
slight  nod  of  the  head,  and,  pensively  smiling, 
began  herself,  in  a  barely-audible  voice,  to  hum 
Weber's  beautiful  melody,  in  which  Max  ex- 
presses all  the  bewilderment  of  first  love.    Then 

43 


SPRING   FRESHETS 

she  asked  Sanin  whether  he  was  acquainted  with 
"  Freischutz,"  whether  he  liked  Weber,  and 
added  that,  although  she  herself  was  an  Italian, 
she  loved  such  music  best  of  all.  From  Weber 
the  conversation  glided  to  poetry  and  romanti- 
cism, to  Hoffmann,  whom  every  one  was  reading 
at  that  time.  .  . 

And  Frau  Lenore  slept  on,  and  even  snored 
faintly,  and  the  rays  of  sunlight,  piercing 
through  the  shutters  in  narrow  strips,  impercep- 
tibly, but  incessantly,  moved  about  and  travelled 
over  the  floor,  over  the  furniture,  over  Gemma's 
gown,  over  the  leaves  and  petals  of  the  flowers. 

XII 

It  appeared  that  Gemma  did  not  particularly 
favour  Hoffmann,  and  even  found  him  .  .  .  tire- 
some! The  fantastically-obscure,  northern  ele- 
ment of  his  tales  was  not  very  perceptible  to  her 
bright,  southern  nature.  "  They  are  all  fairy 
tales,  written  for  children!'  she  asserted,  not 
without  disdain.  She  also  had  a  confused  con- 
sciousness of  the  absence  of  poetry  in  Hoffmann. 
But  there  was  one  of  his  tales,  whose  title, 
however,  she  had  forgotten,  which  pleased  her 
greatly.  Properly  speaking,  only  the  beginning 
of  the  tale  pleased  her :  she  had  not  read  the  end, 
or  had  forgotten  it  also.  It  was  about  a  young 
man,  who,  somewhere  or  other,  in  a  confectioner's 

44 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

shop,  so  far  as  she  remembered,  meets  a  young 
girl  of  striking  beauty,  a  Greek;  she  is  accom- 
panied by  a  mysterious  and  queer  old  man.  The 
young  man  falls  in  love  with  the  girl  at  the  first 
glance;  she  gazes  at  him  so  pitifully,  as  though 
entreating  him  to  set  her  free.  .  .  .  He  with- 
draws for  a  moment— and  on  returning  to  the 
confectioner's  shop,  he  no  longer  finds  either  the 
young  girl  or  the  old  man ;  he  rushes  to  seek  her, 
is  incessantly  coming  across  perfectly  fresh  traces 
of  them,  follows  them— and  by  no  means,  no- 
where, never  can  he  overtake  them.  The  beauty 
vanishes  from  him  forever  and  ever — and  he  is 
powerless  to  forget  her  beseeching  look,  and  is 
tortured  by  the  thought  that,  perchance,  all  the 
happiness  of  his  life  has  slipped  out  of  his  hands. 

Hoffmann  hardly  ends  his  tale  in  just  that 
way;  but  so  she  had  constructed  it,  and  so  it  re- 
mained in  Gemma's  memory. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"— she  said,—"  that  such 
meetings  and  such  partings  occur  in  the  world 
more  frequently  than  we  think." 

Sanin  remained  silent  ....  and,  a  little  while 
later,  began  to  talk  about  ....  Herr  Kliiber. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  mentioned  him :  he  had 
not  even  alluded  to  him  until  that  moment. 

Gemma  became  silent,  in  her  turn,  and  medi- 
tated, lightly  biting  the  nail  of  her  forefinger,  and 
fixing  her  eyes  on  one  side.  Then  she  began  to 
laud  her  betrothed,  referred  to  the  pleasure-party 

45 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

which  he  had  arranged  for  the  following  day, 
and,  darting  a  swift  glance  at  Sanin,  she  re- 
lapsed into  silence  again. 

Sanin  did  not  know  what  subject  of  conversa- 
tion to  start. 

Emile  ran  noisily  in,  and  woke  Frau  Lenore. 
.  .  .  Sanin  rejoiced  at  his  arrival. 

Frau  Lenore  rose  from  her  chair.  Pantaleone 
presented  himself,  and  announced  that  dinner 
was  ready.  The  household  friend,  the  ex-singer 
and  servant,  also  discharged  the  functions  of 
cook. 

XIII 

Sanin  remained  even  after  dinner.  They  would 
not  let  him  go,  still  under  the  same  pretext  of 
the  frightful  sultriness, — and  when  the  sultriness 
abated,  they  proposed  to  him  to  go  into  the  gar- 
den, and  drink  coffee  under  the  shade  of  the 
acacias.  Sanin  accepted.  He  felt  greatly  at  his 
ease.  In  the  monotonously-quiet  and  smoothly- 
flowing  current  of  life  great  delights  are  hidden, 
— and  he  surrendered  himself  to  them  with  delec- 
tation, demanding  nothing  in  particular  from  the 
present  day,  but  also  thinking  nothing  about  the 
morrow,  recalling  not  yesterday.  What  was  not 
proximity  to  such  a  young  girl  as  Gemma  worth  ? 
He  would  soon  part  from  her,  and,  in  all  proba- 
bility, forever;  but  while  one  and  the  same  bark 

46 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

bears  them  along  the  calmed  floods  of  life,  as  in 
Uhland's    romance— rejoice,    enjoy    thyself,    O 
traveller!    And  everything  seemed  pleasant  and 
charming  to  the  happy  voyager.     Frau  Lenore 
proposed  that  he  should  contend  with  her  and 
Pantaleone  at  "tresette,"  taught  him  that  far 
from  complicated  Italian  game  of  cards— won  a 
few  kreutzers   from  him— and  he   was   greatly 
pleased.     Pantaleone,  at  the  request  of  Emile, 
made  the  poodle  Tartaglia  to  go  through  all  his 
tricks— and     Tartaglia    leaped    over    a    stick, 
"  talked,"  that  is  to  say,  barked,  sneezed,  shut  the 
door  with  his  nose,  fetched  the  patched  slipper 
of  his  master,— and,  to  wind  up,  with  an  old  shako 
on  his  head,  represented  Marshal  Bernadotte, 
subjected  to  the  harsh  reproofs  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon    for    his    treachery.      Pantaleone,    of 
course,  represented  Napoleon — and  represented 
him  very  faithfully.     He  folded  his  arms  on  his 
chest,  pulled  a  three-cornered  hat  down  over  his 
eyes — and  spoke  roughly  and  sharply,  in  French; 
but,  O  heavens,  in  what  French!     Tartaglia  sat 
up  in  front  of  his  commander,  all  shrivelled  up, 
with  his  tail  tucked  between  his  legs,  and  wink- 
ing and  screwing  up  his  eyes  confusedly  under 
the  visor  of  the  shako,  which  was  on  awry.    From 
time  to  time,  when  Napoleon  raised  his  voice,  Ber- 
nadotte rose  on  his  hind  legs.     "  Fuori,  tradi- 
torel"  shouted  Napoleon,  at  last,  forgetting,  in 
the  excess  of  his  indignation,  that  he  ought  to 

47 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

preserve  his  French  character  to  the  end— and 
Bernadotte  dashed  headlong  under  the  divan, 
but  immediately  sprang  out  again,  with  a  joyful 
bark,  as  though  giving  it  to  be  understood  that 
the  performance  was  at  an  end.  All  the  specta- 
tors laughed  a  great  deal — and  Sanin  most  of  all. 

Gemma  had  a  peculiarly  charming,  incessant, 
quiet  laugh,  interspersed  with  very  amusing  little 
squeaks.  .  .  .  Sanin  fairly  went  to  pieces  under 
that  laugh— he  would  have  liked  to  kiss  her,  for 
those  squeaks! 

Night  came  at  last.  One  must  not  abuse  kind- 
ness !  After  bidding  them  all  good  night  several 
times,  after  saying  several  times  to  all  of  them: 
"  Farewell  until  to-morrow ! "  (he  even  exchanged 
kisses  with  Emile),  Sanin  wended  his  way  home- 
ward, and  carried  with  him  the  image  of  the 
young  girl,  now  laughing,  now  pensive,  now  com- 
posed, and  even  indifferent — but  always  fasci- 
nating !  Her  eyes,  now  widely-opened  and  bright 
and  joyous  as  the  day,  again  half -veiled  by  her 
lashes,  and  deep,  and  dark  as  night,  fairly  stood 
before  his  eyes,  strangely  and  sweetly  piercing 
through  all  other  images  and  scenes. 

Of  Herr  Kluber,  of  the  cause  which  had 
moved  him  to  linger  in  Frankfurt — in  a  word, 
of  all  that  which  had  agitated  him  on  the  pre- 
ceding day— he  did  not  think  even  once. 


48 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XIV 

But  we  must  say  a  few  words  about  Sanin  him- 
self. 

In  the  first  place,  he  was  very,  very  far  from 
being  bad-looking.  A  stately,  slender  figure, 
agreeable,  rather  formless  features,  small  caress- 
ing blue  eyes,  golden  hair,  a  white-and-red  com- 
plexion— chief  of  all,  that  artlessly-merry,  con- 
fiding, frank  expression,  rather  stupid  at  first 
sight,  by  which,  in  times  gone  by,  it  was  pos- 
sible instantly  to  recognise  the  children  of  digni- 
fied noble  families,  "  father's  "  sons,  nice  young 
lordlings,  born  and  fattened  in  our  spacious, 
half -steppe  regions;— a  walk  with  a  hitch,  a 
voice  with  a  lisp,  a  smile  like  that  of  a  child, 
as  soon  as  one  glances  at  it.  .  .  .  In  conclusion, 
freshness,  health— and  softness,  softness,  soft- 
ness,—there  you  have  Sanin  complete.  And  in 
the  second  place,  he  was  not  stupid,  and  had  ac- 
quired a  few  things.  He  remained  fresh,  not- 
withstanding his  trip  abroad.  The  agitated 
emotions,  which  tossed  with  storm  the  best  part 
of  the  youth  of  that  day,  were  little  known  to 
him. 

Of  late,  in  our  literature,  after  the  vain  search 
for  "  new  men,"  people  have  begun  to  depict 
youths  who  have  made  up  their  minds,  cost  what 
it  may,  to  remain  fresh  ....  fresh  as  Flens- 

49 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

burg  oysters  imported  to  St.  Petersburg.  .  .  . 
Sanin  did  not  resemble  them.  And,  as  long  as 
it  has  become  a  question  of  comparisons,  he  re- 
minded one,  rather,  of  a  bushy  young  apple-tree, 
recently  planted  in  our  black-earth  orchards, — 
or,  better  still,  of  a  well-groomed,  smooth,  thick- 
legged,  tender  three-year-old  of  former  "  gen- 
tlemen's "  stud-farms,  whom  they  have  just  be- 
gun to  lead  with  a  thong.  .  .  .  Those  who  came 
in  contact  with  Sanin  later  on,  when  life  had 
thoroughly  broken  him  in,  and  the  young,  fleet- 
ing plumpness  had  long  since  worked  off  of  him, 
beheld  in  him  a  totally  different  man. 

On  the  following  day,  Sanin  was  still  in  bed, 
when  Emile,  in  holiday  attire,  with  a  slender 
cane  in  his  hand,  and  heavily  pomaded,  burst 
into  his  room,  and  announced  that  Herr  Kluber 
would  be  there  directly  with  a  carriage,  and  that 
the  weather  promised  to  be  wonderfully  fine, 
that  they  already  had  everything  in  readiness, 
but  that  mamma  would  not  go,  because  her  head 
was  aching  again.  He  began  to  urge  Sanin  to 
haste,  assuring  him  that  he  had  not  a  minute 
to  lose.  .  .  .  And,  in  fact,  Herr  Kluber  found 
Sanin  still  busy  with  his  toilet.  He  knocked  at 
the  door,  entered,  bowed,  inclined  his  body,  ex- 
pressed a  readiness  to  wait  as  long  as  he  liked 
—and  sat  down,  with  his  hat  resting  elegantly 
against  his  knee.     The  good-looking  clerk  had 

50 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

dressed  himself  foppishly  and  scented  himself 
to  excess;  his  every  movement  was  accompanied 
by  an  augmented  billow  of  the  most  delicate  per- 
fume. He  had  arrived  in  a  commodious,  open 
carriage,  a  so-called  landau,  drawn  by  two 
powerful  and  well-grown,  though  not  handsome 
horses.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Sanin,  Klii- 
ber,  and  Emile  drove  up  triumphantly,  in  that 
same  carriage,  to  the  door  of  the  confectionery 
shop.  Signora  Roselli  positively  refused  to  take 
part  in  the  excursion;  Gemma  wished  to  remain 
with  her  mother;  but  the  latter  drove  her  out, 
as  the  saying  is. 

"  I  want  no  one," — she  asserted.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  sleep.  I  would  send  Pantaleone  with 
you,"— she  added,— "but  there  would  be  no  one 
left  to  tend  the  shop." 

"  May  we  take  Tartaglia?  "—asked  Emile. 

"  Certainly  you  may." 

Tartaglia  immediately,  with  joyful  efforts, 
clambered  up  onto  the  box  and  seated  himself, 
licking  his  chops.  Evidently,  he  was  used  to 
it.  Gemma  donned  a  large  straw  hat  with  light- 
brown  ribbons;  this  hat  was  bent  down  in  front, 
shading  nearly  the  whole  of  her  face  from  the 
sun.  The  line  of  shadow  was  drawn  just  above 
her  lips.  They  glowed  virginally  and  tenderly, 
like  the  petals  of  a  hundred-leaved  rose,  and  her 
teeth  gleamed  out  by  stealth— also  innocently, 
as  with  children.     Gemma  installed  herself  on 

51 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  back  seat,  beside  Sanin;  Kliiber  and  Emile 
seated  themselves  opposite.  Frau  Lenore's  pale 
face  showed  itself  at  the  window,  Gemma  waved 
her  handkerchief  at  it— and  the  horses  started. 

XV 

Soden  is  a  small  town,  half  an  hour's  journey 
from  Frankfurt.  It  lies  in  a  beautiful  situation, 
on  the  foot-hills  of  the  Taunus  range,  and  is 
known  to  us,  in  Russia,  for  its  waters,  which  are 
supposed  to  be  good  for  people  with  weak 
chests.  Frankfurters  resort  thither  chiefly  for 
diversion,  as  Soden  possesses  a  fine  park  and 
various  Wirthschaften,  where  beer  and  coffee 
can  be  drunk  under  the  shade  of  lofty  lindens 
and  maples.  The  road  from  Frankfurt  to 
Soden  runs  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Main, 
and  is  planted  throughout  with,  fruit-trees. 
While  the  carriage  was  rolling  gently  along  the 
excellent  highway,  Sanin  stealthily  watched 
Gemma's  behaviour  to  her  betrothed.  He  saw 
them  together  for  the  first  time.  She  bore  her- 
self with  composure  and  simplicity — but  was 
somewhat  more  reserved  and  serious  than  usual. 
He  had  the  gaze  of  a  condescending  superior, 
who  was  permitting  himself  and  his  subordinates 
a  modest  and  discreet  pleasure.  Sanin  observed 
no  special  attentions  to  Gemma,  nothing  of  that 
which    the    French    call    emyressement,   on    his 

52 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

part.  It  was  evident  that  Herr  Kliiber  consid- 
ered that  the  matter  was  settled,  and,  therefore, 
there  was  no  cause  for  bothering  himself  or  get- 
ting agitated.  But  his  condescension  did  not 
abandon  him  for  a  single  moment!  Even  dur- 
ing the  long  stroll  before  dinner,  over  the 
wooded  hills  and  valleys  behind  Soden,  even 
while  enjoying  the  beauties  of  nature,  he  bore 
himself  toward  it,  that  same  nature,  ever  with 
the  same  condescension,  through  which,  from 
time  to  time,  his  wonted  sternness  of  a  superior 
broke  forth.  Thus,  for  example,  he  remarked 
about  one  brook  that  it  ran  too  straight  through 
the  hollow,  instead  of  making  a  few  picturesque 
turns;  neither  did  he  approve  of  the  conduct  of 
one  bird— a  chaffinch,  which  did  not  introduce 
enough  variations  into  its  song.  Gemma  was 
not  bored,  and  even,  to  all  appearances,  was 
pleased;  but  Sanin  did  not  recognise  in  her  the 
former  Gemma:  not  that  a  shadow  had  come 
over  her — her  beauty  had  never  been  more  ra- 
diant than  now— but  her  soul  had  retreated  into 
itself,  within  her.  Opening  her  parasol,  and 
leaving  her  gloves  buttoned,  she  walked  on 
sedately,  without  haste, — as  well-trained  young 
girls  do— and  said  little.  Emile  also  felt  con- 
strained, much  more  so  Sanin.  Among  other 
things,  he  was  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the 
circumstance  that  the  conversation  was  con- 
ducted   uninterruptedly    in    the    German    lan- 

53 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

guage.  Tartaglia  was  the  only  one  who  was 
not  depressed!  With  wild  barking,  he  dashed 
after  the  thrushes  which  crossed  his  path,  leaped 
over  gullies,  stumps,  water-holes;  he  hurled  him- 
self with  a  flourish  into  the  water,  and  hastily- 
lapped  it  up,  shook  himself,  whined— and  again 
bounded  off  like  an  arrow,  with  his  red  tongue 
lolling  out  on  his  very  shoulder.  Herr  Kliiber, 
on  his  side,  did  everything  which  he  regarded 
as  necessary  for  the  amusement  of  the  party. 
He  invited  them  to  sit  down  beneath  the  shadow 
of  a  spreading  oak — and,  pulling  from  his  side- 
pocket  a  small  book,  entitled  "  Knallersleben — 
oder  du  sollst  und  willst  lachen!"  ("Petards— 
or  thou  must  and  wilt  laugh  ") ,  he  began  to  read 
them  unconnected  anecdotes,  with  which  the 
little  book  was  filled.  He  read  them  a  dozen; 
but  he  aroused  little  mirth;  Sanin  alone,  out  of 
politeness,  showed  his  teeth  in  a  grin,  and  Herr 
Kliiber  himself,  after  every  anecdote,  emitted 
a  curt,  business-like — and,  at  the  same  time, 
condescending — laugh.  At  twelve  o'clock,  the 
entire  party  returned  to  Soden,  to  the  best  res- 
taurant in  the  place. 

The  question  of  arranging  for  dinner  arose. 

Herr  Kliiber  proposed  that  the  dinner  should 
take  place  in  an  arbour,  shut  in  on  all  sides — 
"  im  Gartensalon."  But  at  this  point  Gemma 
suddenly  rose  in  rebellion,  and  declared  that  she 
would  not  dine  otherwise  than  in  the  open  air, 

54 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  the  garden,  at  one  of  the  little  tables  placed 
in  front  of  the  restaurant ;  that  it  bored  her  to  be 
all  the  time  with  the  same  set  of  people,  and  that 
she  wanted  to  see  others.  Groups  of  newly-ar- 
rived visitors  were  already  seated  at  several  of 
the  tables. 

While  Herr  Kliiber  condescendingly  submit- 
ted to  "  the  caprice  of  his  betrothed,"  and  went  to 
confer  with  the  head-waiter,  Gemma  stood  mo- 
tionless, with  eyes  cast  down  and  lips  tightly 
compressed.  She  was  conscious  that  Sanin  was 
gazing  fixedly  and  interrogatively,  as  it  were, 
at  her— and  this  seemed  to  enrage  her.  At  last, 
Herr  Kliiber  returned,  announced  that  dinner 
would  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,  and  suggested 
that  they  play  at  ninepins  until  that  time;  add- 
ing that  that  was  very  good  for  the  appetite, 
he,  he,  he!  He  played  ninepins  in  a  masterly 
manner.  In  throwing  the  ball  he  assumed  won- 
derfully dashing  poses,  made  his  muscles  play  in 
a  foppish  way,  foppishly  flourished  and  shook 
his  leg.  In  his  way,  he  was  an  athlete— and 
capitally  built.  And  his  hands  were  so  white 
and  handsome,  and  he  rubbed  them  with  such  a 
very  rich,  golden-patterned  India  silk  hand- 
kerchief ! 

The  dinner-hour  arrived— and  the  whole 
party  sat  down  at  a  small  table. 


55 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XVI 

Who  does  not  know  what  a  German  dinner  is 
like?  Watery  soup,  with  knobby  dumplings 
and  cinnamon,  boiled  beef,  dry  as  cork,  over- 
grown with  white  fat,  slimy  potatoes,  puffy 
beets  and  chewed  horseradish,  eel  that  has  turned 
blue,  capers  and  vinegar,  a  roast  with  preserves, 
and  the  inevitable  Mehlspeise, — something  in 
the  nature  of  a  pudding,  with  a  sourish  red 
sauce;  and  on  top  of  all,  wine  and  beer — capital! 
To  just  that  sort  of  a  dinner  did  the  restaurant- 
keeper  of  Soden  treat  his  patrons.  However, 
the  dinner  itself  passed  off  successfully.  No 
particular  animation  was  visible,  it  is  true;  it 
did  not  make  its  appearance  even  when  Herr 
Kliiber  proposed  a  toast  to  '  that  which  we 
love!  "  ( Was  wir  lieben!)  Everything  was  very 
decorous  and  proper.  After  dinner,  coffee  was 
served, — weak,  rusty-red  regular  German  coffee. 
Herr  Kliiber,  like  a  genuine  cavalier,  asked 
Gemma's  permission  to  light  his  cigar.  .  .  .  But 
at  this  point  something  happened  which  was 
unforeseen,  and  really  disagreeable — and  even 
improper! 

Several  officers  of  the  Mayence  garrison  had 
placed  themselves  at  one  of  the  neighbouring 
tables.  From  their  glances  and  whisperings,  it 
was  easy  to  divine  that   Gemma's  beauty  had 

56 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

made  an  impression  on  them;  one  of  them,  who 
had  probably  been  in  Frankfurt  before,  kept 
staring  at  her,  as  at  a  face  well  known  to  him. 
It  was  obvious  that  he  knew  who  she  was.  He 
suddenly  rose  to  his  feet,  and  glass  in  hand, — the 
officers  had  been  drinking  heavily,  and  the  whole 
table-cloth  in  front  of  them  was  covered  with 
bottles,— he  stepped  up  to  the  table  at  which  sat 
Gemma.  He  was  a  very  young,  fair-haired 
man,  with  sufficiently  agreeable  and  even  sym- 
pathetic features;  but  the  wine  he  had  drunk 
had  distorted  them;  his  cheeks  were  twitching, 
his  swollen  eyes  wandered  and  assumed  an  auda- 
cious expression.  At  first  his  comrades  tried 
to  hold  him  back,  but  afterward  they  let  him  go 
his  way,  as  though  they  were  curious  to  see  what 
would  come  of  it. 

Reeling  slightly  on  his  legs,  the  officer  halted 
in  front  of  Gemma,  and  in  a  violently  shrill 
voice,  in  which,  against  his  will,  conflict  with 
himself  was  expressed,  he  articulated :  "  I  drink 
to  the  health  of  the  most  beautiful  coffee-house 
girl  in  the  whole  world" — (he  "drained"  the 
glass  at  one  swallow) — "and,  as  my  reward,  I 
take  this  flower,  wrested  from  her  divine  little 
fingers!"  He  picked  up  from  the  table  a  rose, 
which  lay  in  front  of  Gemma's  plate.  At  first 
she  was  amazed,  frightened,  and  turned  terribly 
pale  ....  then  her  terror  was  replaced  by  in- 
dignation.   She  suddenly  flushed  all  over,  to  her 

57 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

very  hair,— and  her  eyes,  fixed  straight  on  the  of- 
fender, both  darkened  and  blazed  up  simultane- 
ously— became  filled  with  gloom  and  lighted  up 
with  the  fire  of  uncontrollable  wrath.  This  gaze 
must  have  abashed  the  officer ;  he  muttered  some- 
thing unintelligible,  bowed — and  went  back  to 
his  friends.  They  greeted  him  with  laughter, 
and  a  faint  clapping  of  hands. 

Herr  Kliiber  suddenly  rose  from  his  chair, 
and  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and 
putting  on  his  hat,  he  said,  with  dignity,  but 
not  too  loudly:  "  This  is  unheard  of!  Unheard- 
of  insolence !  "  ("  Unerhort!  Unerhorte  Frech- 
heitl")  and  immediately  calling  the  waiter  to 
him,  in  a  stern  voice,  he  demanded  his  bill  in- 
stantly ....  and  that  was  not  all:  he  ordered 
the  carriage  to  be  harnessed,  adding  that  re- 
spectable people  could  not  come  to  the  house, 
as  they  were  subjected  to  insults!  At  these 
words,  Gemma,  who  had  continued  to  sit  still  in 
her  place,  without  moving, — her  bosom  heaved 
sharply  and  high,— Gemma  turned  her  eyes  on 
Herr  Kliiber  .  .  .  and  regarded  him  steadily, 
and  with  the  same  gaze  which  she  had  used  for 
the  officer.  Emile  was  simply  quivering  with 
fury. 

"Rise,  inein  Fraulein,"— said  Herr  Kliiber, 
still  with  the  same  severity;  "it  is  not  proper 
for  you  to  remain  here.  We  will  post  ourselves 
yonder  in  the  restaurant." 

58 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Gemma  rose  in  silence.  He  offered  her  his 
arm  in  a  crook,  she  gave  him  hers — and  he 
wended  his  way  to  the  restaurant  with  a  majestic 
stride,  which,  equally  with  his  bearing,  became 
more  majestic  and  arrogant  in  proportion  as  he 
got  further  away  from  the  spot  where  the  dinner 
had  taken  place.    Poor  Emile  slunk  after  them. 

But  while  Herr  Kliiber  was  settling  the  bill 
with  the  waiter,  to  whom,  by  way  of  punish- 
ment, he  gave  not  a  single  kreutzer  of  tip,  Sanin, 
with  swift  strides,  approached  the  table  at  which 
the  officers  sat,— and,  addressing  Gemma's  in- 
sulter  (at  the  moment  the  latter  was  allowing 
each  of  his  comrades  in  turn  to  smell  of  her  rose) 
—he  articulated  distinctly,  in  French:— "  What 
you  have  just  done,  my  dear  sir,  is  unworthy  of 
an  honourable  man,  unworthy  of  the  uniform 
you  wear,— and  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  an  ill-bred  bully!"— The  young  man 
sprang  to  his  feet,  but  another  officer,  an  older 
man,  restrained  him  by  a  motion  of  his  hand, 
made  him  sit  down,— and,  turning  to  Sanin, 
asked  him,  also  in  French:  —  "  Was  he  a  relative, 
a  brother,  or  the  betrothed  of  that  young  girl? ' 

f  I  am  an  entire  stranger  to  her," — exclaimed 
Sanin,—"  I  am  a  Russian, — but  I  cannot  look 
on,  with  indifference,  at  such  a  piece  of  inso- 
lence. However,  here  is  my  card,  with  my  ad- 
dress; the  officer  can  look  me  up." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  Sanin  flung  on  the 

59 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

table  his  visiting-card,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
quickly  seized  Gemma's  rose,  which  one  of  the 
officers  seated  at  the  table  had  dropped  on  his 
plate.  The  young  man  again  tried  to  spring 
from  his  chair,  but  again  his  comrade  held  him 
back,  saying:  "Donhof,  be  quiet!"  (ff Donhof, 
sei  still!")  Then  he  rose  himself,— and,  touch- 
ing the  visor  of  his  cap  with  his  hand,  he  said 
to  Sanin,  not  without  a  trace  of  respect  in  his 
manner  and  voice,  that  the  next  morning  one  of 
the  officers  of  the  regiment  would  have  the  hon- 
our to  present  himself  to  him  at  his  lodgings. 
Sanin  replied  by  a  curt  nod — and  hastily  re- 
joined his  friends. 

Herr  Kluber  feigned  not  to  notice  in  the  least 
either  Sanin's  absence,  or  his  explanation  with 
the  officers ;  he  urged  to  haste  the  coachman,  who 
was  harnessing  the  horses,  and  flew  into  a  violent 
rage  at  his  slowness.  Neither  did  Gemma  say 
anything  to  Sanin,  she  did  not  even  glance  at 
him;  but  her  lowering  brows,  her  lips,  which 
were  pale  and  compressed,  her  very  immobility 
made  it  plain  that  her  mind  was  not  at  ease. 
Emile  alone  wanted  to  talk  with  Sanin,  wanted 
to  question  him.  He  had  seen  Sanin  go  up  to 
the  officers,  he  had  seen  him  give  them  something 
white, — a  scrap  of  paper,  a  note,  a  card.  .  .  . 
The  poor  lad's  heart  beat  violently,  he  was  ready 
to  fling  himself  on  Sanin's  neck,  ready  to  weep, 

60 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

or  to  go  on  the  instant  with  him  to  pulverise  all 
those  disgusting  officers!  But  he  restrained 
himself,  and  contented  himself  with  watching 
attentively  every  movement  of  his  noble  Rus- 
sian friend. 

At  last  the  coachman  got  the  horses  put  to; 
the  whole  party  took  their  seats  in  the  carriage. 
Emile  climbed  up  after  Tartaglia  on  the  box; 
he  felt  more  at  his  ease  there,  and,  moreover, 
Kliiber,  whom  he  could  not  look  at  with  equa- 
nimity, would  not  be  before  his  eyes. 

All  the  way  home,  Herr  Kliiber  harangued  .  .  . 
and  harangued  alone;  no  one,  no  one  answered 
him,  and  no  one  agreed  with  him.  He  laid  par- 
ticular stress  on  the  fact  that  they  had  made  a 
mistake  not  to  obey  him  when  he  had  proposed 
to  dine  in  the  enclosed  arbour.  Had  that  been 
done,  no  unpleasantness  would  have  arisen! 
Then  he  pronounced  several  harsh,  and  even 
liberal  judgments,  to  the  effect  that  the  govern- 
ment upheld  the  officers  in  an  unpardonable 
manner,  did  not  look  after  their  discipline,  and 
did  not  sufficiently  respect  the  civilian  element 
of  society — ("das  biirgerliche  Element  in  der 
Societat!") — and  that  thence,  from  that  cause, 
arose  dissatisfaction,  from  which  to  revolution 
was  not  a  long  stride,  as  to  which  a  sad  example 
(here  he  sighed  feelingly,  but  sternly) — a  sad 
example  had  been  furnished  by  France!    But  he 

61 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

immediately  added  that,  personally,  he  revered 
the  authorities,  and  never  ....  never!  .... 
would  become  a  revolutionist— although  he 
could  not  refrain  from  expressing  his  ...  . 
disapprobation  at  the  sight  of  such  profligacy! 
Then  he  added  a  few  more  general  remarks  as  to 
morality  and  immorality,  propriety  and  the 
sense  of  dignity. 

In  the  course  of  all  these  "  harangues ' 
Gemma,  who  already,  in  the  stroll  which  had 
preceded  the  dinner,  had  seemed  to  be  not  en- 
tirely pleased  with  Herr  Kluber— hence,  she  had 
held  herself  somewhat  aloof  from  Sanin,  and 
had  seemed  to  be  embarrassed  by  his  presence— 
Gemma  began,  plainly,  to  feel  ashamed  of  her 
betrothed!  Toward  the  end  of  the  drive  she 
positively  suffered,  and  although,  as  before,  she 
did  not  converse  with  Sanin,  yet  she  suddenly 
cast  an  imploring  glance  at  him.  .  .  .  He,  on 
his  part,  felt  much  more  pity  for  her  than  in- 
dignation at  Herr  Kluber;  he  even  secretly,  half 
unconsciously,  rejoiced  at  all  that  had  happened 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  although  he  might  ex- 
pect a  challenge  to  a  duel  the  next  morning. 

This  painful  partie  de  plaisir  came  to  an  end 
at  last.  As  Sanin  helped  Gemma  out  of  the 
carriage  in  front  of  the  confectionery  shop,  he 
placed  the  rose,  which  he  had  recaptured,  in 
her  hand,  without  saying  a  word.  She  flushed 
all  over,   pressed   his  hand,  and  instantly  con- 

62 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

cealed  the  rose.  He  did  not  wish  to  enter  the 
house,  although  the  evening  was  only  just  be- 
ginning. She  herself  did  not  invite  him.  More- 
over, Pantaleone,  who  made  his  appearance  on 
the  steps,  announced  that  Frau  Lenore  was 
sleeping.  Emile  bade  Sanin  a  timid  farewell; 
he  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  him :  he  had  astonished 
him  so  much.  Kliiber  drove  Sanin  to  his  lodg- 
ings, and  took  leave  of  him  conceitedly.  The 
regularly  constituted  German,  despite  all  his 
self-confidence,  felt  awkward.  They  all  felt 
awkward. 

But,  in  Sanin's  case,  this  feeling— the  feeling 
of  awkwardness — was  speedily  dissipated.  It 
was  supplanted  by  an  ill-defined,  but  agreeable, 
even  exalted  mood.  He  paced  up  and  down  his 
chamber,  would  not  allow  himself  to  think  of 
anything,  whistled— and  was  very  well  satisfied 
with  himself. 

XVII 

f  I  shall  wait  for  the  officer  with  an  explanation 
until  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,"— he  reflected, 
on  the  following  morning,  as  he  completed  his 
toilet,  "and  then  he  may  hunt  me  up!'  But 
Germans  are  early  risers.  Before  the  clock  strack 
nine,  a  waiter  announced  to  Sanin  that  Mr.  Sec- 
ond Lieutenant  (der  Herr  Seconde  Lieutenant) 
von  Richter  desired  to  see  him.     Sanin  briskly 

63 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

donned  his  coat,  and  said,  "  Show  him  in." 
Contrary  to  Sanin's  expectation,  Herr  Richter 
proved  to  be  a  very  young  man,  almost  a  boy. 
He  endeavoured  to  impart  an  expression  of  im- 
portance to  his  beardless  face,— but  in  this  he 
was  utterly  unsuccessful ;  he  was  not  able  to  con- 
ceal his  agitation— and,  as  he  seated  himself  on 
a  chair,  he  nearly  fell,  through  having  entangled 
himself  with  his  sword.  Halting  and  stammer- 
ing, he  informed  Sanin,  in  villainous  French, 
that  he  had  come  on  behalf  of  his  friend,  Baron 
von  Donhof ;  that  he  was  commissioned  to  de- 
mand from  Herr  von  Zanin  an  apology  for  the 
insulting  expressions  employed  by  him  on  the 
preceding  day;  and  that,  in  case  of  a  refusal  on 
the  part  of  Herr  von  Zanin,  Baron  von  Don- 
hof desired  satisfaction.  Sanin  replied  that  he 
had  no  intention  of  apologising,  and  was  ready 
to  give  satisfaction.  Then  Herr  von  Richter, 
still  stammering,  inquired  with  whom,  and  at 
what  hour,  and  in  what  place,  he  should  hold  the 
requisite  conference?  Sanin  answered  that  he 
might  come  to  him  a  couple  of  hours  hence,  and 
that  he,  Sanin,  would  endeavour  to  hunt  up  a 
second  before  that  time.  ("Whom  the  devil 
shall  I  get  for  a  second  ?  "  he  said  to  himself  the 
while.)  Herr  von  Richter  rose,  #nd  began  to 
bow  himself  out  ....  but  halted  on  the  thresh- 
old, as  though  he  felt  the  pangs  of  conscience,— 
and,    turning   to    Sanin,    he   observed   that   his 

64 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

friend,  Baron  von  Donhof,  did  not  conceal 
from  himself  ....  a  certain  degree  ....  of 
blame  on  his  own  side  for  what  had  taken  place 
on  the  previous  day— and,  therefore,  would  be 
content  with  a  light  apology — "  des  exghizes 
lecheres"  To  this  Sanin  replied  that  he  had 
no  intention  of  making  any  sort  of  apology 
whatsoever,  either  heavy  or  light,  as  he  did 
not  consider  himself  in  the  wrong. — "  In 
that  case,"— returned  Herr  von  Richter,  blush- 
ing still  more  furiously:— "you  must  ex- 
change friendly  shots— des  goups  de  pisdolet  a 
Vaimaple! " 

1 1  utterly  fail  to  comprehend  that,"— re- 
marked Sanin.  "  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  to 
fire  into  the  air?  " 

'  Oh,  not  that,  not  so,"— lisped  the  sub-lieu- 
tenant, definitively  overwhelmed  with  confusion; 
— "  but  I— I  assume  that,  as  the  affair  is  be- 
tween two  gentlemen  of  breeding  ....  I  will 
discuss  it  with  your  second,"  .  .  he  interrupted 
himself,  and  withdrew. 

Sanin  dropped  on  a  chair,  as  soon  as  the  man 
had  left  the  room,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 
—"What  's  the  meaning  of  this?  How  comes 
it  that  life  has  suddenly  taken  such  a  turn?  All 
the  past,  all  the  future  has  suddenly  retreated 
into  the  background,  vanished — and  nothing  re- 
mains, save  the  fact  that  I  am  going  to  fight  in 
Frankfurt  with  some  one  about  something."    He 

65 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

recalled  a  crazy  aunt  of  his,  who  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  dancing  and  singing : 

' '  Sub-lieutenant ! 
My  darling ! 
My  little  love ! 
Dance  a  while  with  me,  my  dear!  ,'>  l 

And  he  burst  out  laughing  and  sang,  like  her: 
1  Sub-lieutenant!  dance  a  while  with  me,  my 
dear!" — "But  I  must  act,  I  must  not  lose 
time!"— he  exclaimed  aloud— jumped  up,  and 
beheld  before  him  Pantaleone,  with  a  note  in  his 
hand. 

'  I  knocked  several  times,  but  you  did  not  an- 
swer. I  thought  you  were  not  at  home,"— said 
the  old  man,  and  handed  him  the  note. — "  From 
Signorina  Gemma." 

Sanin  took  the  note, — as  the  saying  goes,  me- 
chanically,— broke  the  seal,  and  read  it.  Gemma 
wrote  to  him  that  she  was  very  uneasy,  because 
of  the  affair  which  was  known  to  him,  and 
wished  to  see  him  immediately. 

"The  signorina  is  uneasy,"— began  Panta- 
leone, who  was,  evidently,  acquainted  with  the 
contents  of  the  note; — "she  ordered  me  to  see 
what  you  were  doing,  and  bring  you  to  her." 

Sanin  cast  a  glance  at  the  old  Italian — and 

1  Literally  >  "dear  little  cucumber  ":  —  " dear  little  dove."  In  Rus- 
sian the  rhyme  is  characteristic:  "  Podporutchik!  Moi  ogurtchik! 
Moi  amiirtchik!     Proplyashi  co  mnoi  golubtchik!"— Transistor. 

66 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

became  pensive.  A  sudden  idea  had  flashed 
through  his  brain.  At  the  first  moment,  it 
seemed  to  him  strange  to  the  verge  of  impos- 
sibility. .  .  . 

"  Nevertheless  ....  why  not?  "—he  asked 
himself. 

'  Signor  Pantaleone!"— he  said  aloud. 

The  old  man  started,  thrust  his  chin  into  his 
neckcloth,  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  Sanin. 

"  You  know,"— pursued  Sanin,—"  what  took 
place  yesterday? " 

Pantaleone  mowed  with  his  lips,  and  nodded 
his  huge  head. — "I  do." 

(Emile  had  told  him  all  as  soon  as  he  re- 
turned.) 

'Ah,  you  know!— Well,  then,  see  here.  An 
officer  has  just  left  me.  That  bully  challenges 
me  to  a  duel.  —  I  have  accepted  his  challenge. — 
But  I  have  no  second.    Will  you  be  my  second? ' 

Pantaleone  shuddered,  and  elevated  his  eye- 
brows to  such  a  degree  that  they  disappeared 
beneath  his  overhanging  hair. 

'Must  you  inevitably  fight?"— he  said  at 
last,  in  Italian.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  been 
expressing  himself  in  French. 

"  Inevitably.  I  cannot  act  otherwise — it 
would  mean  disgracing  myself  forever." 

'  H'm.  —  If  I  do  not  consent  to  act  as  your 
second— then  you  will  hunt  up  some  one  else?  " 

"  Yes  ....  without  fail." 

67 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Pantaleone  cast  down  his  eyes. — "But  permit 
me  to  ask  you,  Signor  de  Zannini,  will  not  your 
duel  cast  a  sort  of  unfavourable  shadow  upon  the 
reputation  of  a  certain  person?  " 

"  I  think  not;  but,  at  any  rate, — there  is  no- 
thing else  to  be  done." 

"  H'm!  "—Pantaleone  retired  altogether  into 
his  neckcloth.— "Well,  and  that  ferrofluchto 
Kluberio— what  about  him?" — he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, and  threw  up  his  face. 

"About  him?    Nothing." 

"Che!"1 — Pantaleone  shrugged  his  shoulders 
scornfully.—"  In  any  case,  I  must  thank  you," 
— he  said,  at  last,  in  an  uncertain  voice, — "  for 
having  recognised  me,  in  my  present  humble  sta- 
tion, for  a  well-bred  man — un  galant'  uomo! — 
By  so  doing,  you  have  proved  that  you  yourself 
are  a  galanf  uomo.  But  I  must  think  over  your 
proposal." 

"  There  is  no  time  for  that,  my  dear  Signor 
Ci  .  .  .  .  Cippa  .  .  .  ." 

"—tola,"  prompted  the  old  man. — "I  ask  one 
hour  in  all  for  reflection. — The  daughter  of  my 
benefactors  is  implicated  in  the  matter.  .  .  . 
And,  therefore,  I  must— I  am  bound  to  reflect! ! 
.  .  .  An  hour — three  quarters  of  an  hour  hence, 
you  shall  know  my  decision." 

"Good!    I  will  wait." 

1  An  untranslatable  Italian  expression,  corresponding  to 
"Well !  "—Author's  Note. 

68 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  And  now  .  .  .  what  answer  am  I  to  give  to 
Signorina  Gemma?" 

Sanin  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  wrote  on  it:  "  Be 
not  anxious,  my  dear  friend;  I  will  go  to  you 
three  hours  hence,— and  everything  will  be  ex- 
plained. I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  sym- 
pathy,"—and  handed  the  sheet  of  paper  to  Pan- 
taleone. 

The  latter  carefully  placed  it  in  his  side-pocket 
— and  repeating  once  more:  "  An  hour  hence! f 
he  started  toward  the  door;  but  turned  back  ab- 
ruptly, ran  up  to  Sanin,  seized  his  hand,— and 
pressing  it  to  his  shirt-frill,  and  raising  his  eyes 
heavenward,  exclaimed:  "  Noble  youth!  Great 
heart!  (Nobile  giovanotto!  Gran  cuore!)  — 
permit  a  weak  old  man  (a  un  vecchiotto!)  to 
shake  your  valorous  right  hand!  (la  vostra  va- 
lorosa  destra!)"  Then  he  sprang  back  a  little 
way,  flourished  both  hands  in  the  air,  and  with- 
drew. 

Sanin  gazed  after  him  .  .  .  took  up  a  news- 
paper, and  began  to  read.  But  in  vain  did  his 
eyes  run  over  the  lines :  he  understood  nothing. 

XVIII 

An  hour  later,  the  waiter  again  entered  Sanin's 
room,  and  handed  him  an  old,  soiled  visiting- 
card,  on  which  stood  the  following  words:  "  Pan- 
taleone  Cippatola  of  Varese,  Singer  to  the  Court 

69 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

(Cantante  di  Camera)  of  his  Royal  Highness  the 
Duke  of  Modena," — and  following  the  waiter, 
Pantaleone  presented  himself  in  person.  He 
had  re-dressed  himself  from  head  to  foot.  He 
wore  a  rusty  black  dress-suit,  and  a  white  pique 
waistcoat,  over  which,  in  curves,  meandered  a 
pinchbeck  chain;  a  heavy  carnelian  seal  hung 
low  on  the  tight  black  trousers  with  flaps.  In 
his  right  hand  he  held  a  black  hat  of  rabbit's 
down;  in  the  left,  two  thick  chamois-leather 
gloves;  he  had  tied  his  neckcloth  still  more 
broadly  and  higher  up  than  usual — and  in 
the  ruffle  of  his  shirt  he  had  stuck  a  pin  with  a 
stone  called  a  "cat's-eye"  (oeil  de  chat).  On 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  shone  a  ring, 
representing  two  clasped  hands  with  a  flaming 
heart  between  them.  The  old  man's  whole  per- 
son emitted  an  odour  of  clothing  long  packed 
away,— an  odour  of  camphor  and  musk;  the 
anxious  pomposity  of  his  carriage  would  have 
struck  the  most  indifferent  spectator.  Sanin 
rose  to  greet  him. 

'  I  am  your  second," — said  Pantaleone,  in 
French — bowing  with  a  forward  inclination  of 
his  whole  body,  and  his  toes  pointed  outward, 
as  dancers  point  them.  "  I  have  come  for  in- 
structions. Do  you  wish  to  fight  without  quar- 
ter?" 

"But  why  should  it  be  without  quarter,  my 
dear  Mr.  Cippatola?     Not  for  anything  in  the 

70 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

world  will  I  retract  my  words  of  yesterday — 
but  I  am  not  bloodthirsty!  ....  But,  see  here, 
wait  a  bit,  my  adversary's  second  will  be  here  di- 
rectly. I  will  retire  into  the  neighbouring  room, 
and  you  can  come  to  an  agreement  with  him. 
Believe  me,  I  shall  never  forget  your  service, 
and  I  thank  you  with  all  my  soul." 

"Honour  before  everything!  "—replied  Pan- 
taleone,  and  dropped  into  a  chair,  without  wait- 
ing for  Sanin  to  invite  him  to  be  seated.  "  If 
that  ferrofluchto  spiccebubbio" —he  remarked, 
exchanging  the  French  tongue  for  Italian,— "if 
that  haberdasher  Kluberio  was  unable  to  under- 
stand his  plain  obligation,  or  was  afraid,— so 
much  the  worse  for  him!  .  .  .  He  's  a  farthing 
soul— and  basta!  ....  But  as  for  the  condi- 
tions of  the  duel— I  am  your  second,  and  your 
interests  are  sacred  for  me!  !  .  .  .  When  I  lived 
in  Padua,  a  regiment  of  white  dragoons  was  sta- 
tioned there— and  I  was  very  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  many  of  the  officers!  ...  I  am 
familiar  with  their  whole  code.  Well,  and  I  fre- 
quently conversed  with  your  Principe  Tarbusski 
on  those  questions.  .  .  Is  that  second  coming 
soon? " 

"  I  am  expecting  him  every  moment— and 
yonder  he  comes," — added  Sanin,  glancing  into 
the  street. 

Pantaleone  rose,  looked  at  his  watch,  adjusted 
his  top-knot,  and  hastily  stuffed  into  his  shoe  a 

71 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

tape  which  was  dangling  from  beneath  his  trou- 
ser-leg. The  young  sub-lieutenant  entered,  as 
flushed  and  embarrassed  as  ever. 

Sanin  introduced  the  seconds  to  each  other: 
'M-r  Richter,  sous-lieutenant! — M-r  Zippatola, 
artiste!" — The  lieutenant  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  the  aspect  of  the  old  man.  .  .  .  Oh, 
what  would  he  have  said,  had  any  one  whispered 
to  him,  at  that  moment,  that  the  "  artist "  intro- 
duced to  him  also  occupied  himself  with  the  art 
of  cookery!  But  Pantaleone  assumed  an  air,  as 
though  taking  part  in  the  arrangement  of  duels 
were  the  most  commonplace  sort  of  event  for 
him:  probably  the  memories  of  his  theatrical 
career  helped  him  at  that  moment — and  he 
played  the  part  of  a  second,  precisely  like  a  role. 
Both  he  and  the  lieutenant  remained  silent  for  a 
while. 

"Well?  Let  us  proceed  to  business!" — Pan- 
taleone was  the  first  to  speak,  as  he  toyed  with 
his  carnelian  seal. 

"  Let  us  proceed,"— replied  the  lieutenant, — 
"but  .  .  .  the  presence  of  one  of  the  comba- 

LcHlLS     •     •     •     • 

"  I  will  leave  you  at  once,  gentlemen," — ex- 
claimed Sanin,  and,  bowing,  he  went  into  the 
bedroom,  and  shut  the  door  after  him. 

He  flung  himself  on  the  bed— and  set  to  think- 
ing about  Gemma  .  .  .  but  the  conversation  of 
the  seconds  reached  his  ear  through  the  closed 

72 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

door.  It  was  proceeding  in  the  French  lan- 
guage; both  were  murdering  it  mercilessly,  each 
in  his  own  way.  Pantaleone  again  alluded  to 
the  dragoons  at  Padua,  to  Principe  Tarbusski, 
— the  lieutenant  mentioned  "  exghizes  lecher es" 
and  rf  goups  a  Vaimaple."  But  the  old  man 
would  not  hear  to  any  exghizes!  To  the  horror 
of  Sanin,  he  suddenly  began  to  talk  to  his  inter- 
locutor about  a  certain  young,  innocent  girl, 
whose  little  finger  was  worth  more  than  all  the 
officers  in  the  world  ....  ("  oune  zeune  dami- 
gella  innoucenta,  qua  sola  dans  soun  peti  doa 
vale  piu  que  toutt  le  zouffissie  del  mondo! ") 
and  several  times  repeated  with  fervour:  "It  is 
a  shame!  it  is  a  shame!  (E  ouna  onta,  ouna 
onta!)"  The  lieutenant  did  not  reply  to  him  at 
first;  but,  after  a  while,  a  wrathful  tremor  be- 
came audible  in  the  young  man's  voice,  and  he 
remarked  that  he  had  not  come  for  the  purpose 
of  listening  to  moral  sentiments.  .  .  . 

"At  your  age  it  is  always  useful  to  listen  to 
righteous  remarks!  "—cried  Pantaleone. 

The  altercation  between  the  two  seconds  grew 
stormy  at  several  points;  it  lasted  for  more  than 
an  hour,  and  wound  up,  at  last,  with  the  follow- 
ing conditions :  "  Baron  von  Donhof  and  Mr. 
da  Sanin  were  to  fight  a  duel,  with  pistols,  on 
the  following  day,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  the  small  forest  near  Hanau,  at  a  distance 
of  twenty  paces;  each  was  to  have  the  right  to 

73 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

fire  two  shots,  on  a  signal  given  by  the  seconds. 
The  pistols  to  be  without  hair-trigger,  and  not 
rifled."  Herr  von  Richter  withdrew,  and  Pan- 
taleone  triumphantly  threw  open  the  bedroom 
door,  and  communicating  the  result  of  their 
conference,  again  exclaimed:  "Bravo  Russe! 
Bravo  giovanotto!    Thou  wilt  be  the  victor!" 

A  few  minutes  later,  they  both  set  out  for  the 
Roselli  confectionery  shop.  Sanin  exacted  from 
Pantaleone  a  preliminary  promise  to  preserve 
the  strictest  secrecy  regarding  the  duel.  In  re- 
ply, the  old  man  merely  pointed  his  finger  up- 
ward, and  narrowing  his  eyes,  he  whispered 
twice  in  succession:  "Segredezza!  (Secrecy!)" 
He  had  grown  visibly  younger,  and  even 
stepped  out  more  freely.  All  these  unusual, 
though  agreeable  events  had  vividly  carried  him 
back  to  the  epoch  when  he  himself  had  accepted 
and  given  challenges— on  the  stage,  it  is  true. 
Barytones,  as  all  the  world  is  aware,  strut  a  great 
deal  in  their  roles. 

XIX 

£mile  ran  out  to  meet  Sanin— he  had  been 
watching  for  his  arrival  for  more  than  an  hour 
— and  hastily  whispered  in  his  ear  that  his  mo- 
ther knew  nothing  about  the  unpleasantness  of 
the  day  before,  and  it  was  not  proper  even  to 
give  her  a  hint  of  it,  and  that  he  would  be  sent 

74 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

again  to  the  shop!  !  .  .  .  .  but  that  he  would 
not  go,  but  would  hide  somewhere  or  other! — 
Having  imparted  all  this,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
seconds,  he  suddenly  fell  upon  Sanin's  neck, 
kissed  him  impulsively,  and  ran  off  down  the 
street.  In  the  confectionery  shop  Gemma 
greeted  Sanin;  she  tried  to  say  something — and 
could  not.  Her  lips  quivered  slightly,  and  her 
eyes  were  narrowed  and  glanced  off  in  all  direc- 
tions. He  hastened  to  soothe  her  with  the  assur- 
ance that  the  whole  affair  had  ended  ...  in 
mere  nonsense. 

•  Has  no  one  been  to  see  you  to-day? " — she 
asked. 

'  One  person  has  been  to  see  me — we  had  an 
explanation — and  we  ...  we  arrived  at  the 
most  satisfactory  result." 

Gemma  went  back  again  behind  the  counter. 

"  She  did  not  believe  me,"— he  thought  .... 
but  he  went  his  way  into  the  next  room,  and 
there  found  Frau  Lenore. 

Her  headache  had  passed  off,  but  she  was  still 
in  a  melancholy  mood.  She  smiled  cordially  at 
him,  but,  at  the  same  time,  she  warned  him 
that  he  would  find  it  tiresome  with  her  that 
day,  as  she  was  not  in  a  condition  to  entertain 
him. 

'  What  ails  you,  Frau  Lenore?  Can  it  be 
that  you  have  been  weeping?  " 

'  Ssssssssh  .  .  .  ."  she  whispered,  indicating 

75 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

with  a  movement  of  her  head  the  room  where  her 
daughter  was.     "Don't  say  that  ....  aloud." 
"  But  what  have  you  been  crying  about? ' 
"  Akh,  Monsieur  Sanin,  I  don't  know  myself 
what  it  was  about!" 

"  Has  any  one  hurt  your  feelings? ' 
"Oh,  no!  ...  I  felt  greatly  bored  all  of  a 
sudden.  I  remembered  Giovan'  Battista  .... 
his  youth.  .  .  .  Then  that  all  went  away  again 
speedily.  I  am  getting  old,  my  friend.  I  seem 
to  be  just  the  same  as  ever  myself  ....  but 
old  age — there  it  is  .  .  .  there  it  is!  " — Tears 
made  their  appearance  in  Frau  Lenore's  eyes.— 
"  I  see  that  you  look  at  me  in  amazement.  .  .  . 
But  you  will  grow  old  also,  my  friend,  and  you 
will  find  out  how  bitter  it  is! " 

Sanin  set  to  work  to  comfort  her,  reminding  her 
of  her  children,  with  whom  her  own  youth  had 
come  to  life  again ;  he  even  attempted  to  laugh  at 
her,  asserting  that  she  was  fishing  for  compli- 
ments ....  but  she,  not  in  jest,  requested  him 
"  to  stop,"  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  he  was 
able  to  convince  himself  that  that  sort  of  sadness, 
the  sadness  of  conscious  old  age,  cannot  in  any 
way  be  cheered  or  dissipated;  one  must  wait  for 
it  to  disperse  of  itself.  He  proposed  to  her  a 
game  of  tresette — and  he  could  not  have  hit  upon 
anything  better.  She  immediately  accepted — 
and  seemed  to  brighten  up. 

Sanin  played  with  her  until  dinner,  and  after 

76 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

dinner.  Pantaleone  also  took  an  interest  in  the 
game.  Never  had  his  crest  of  hair  fallen  so  low 
upon  his  brow,  never  had  his  chin  sunk  so  deeply 
into  his  neckcloth !  His  every  movement  exhaled 
such  concentrated  dignity  that  the  sight  of  him 
involuntarily  prompted  the  thought :  What  secret 
is  that  man  keeping  with  so  much  firmness? 

But— segredezza!  segredezza! 

Throughout  the  whole  course  of  that  day,  he 
endeavoured,  in  every  possible  way,  to  show  Sa- 
nin  the  most  profound  respect;  at  table,  passing 
over  the  ladies,  solemnly  and  with  decision,  he 
offered  the  viands  first  to  Sanin ;  during  the  game 
at  cards,  he  surrendered  his  draw  to  him,  did  not 
venture  to  beat  him;  he  declared,  without  any 
rhyme  or  reason,  that  Russians  are  the  most  mag- 
nanimous, brave,  and  resolute  nation  in  the 
world ! 

'  Akh,  thou  old  play-actor!  "—thought  Sanin 
to  himself. 

And  he  was  not  so  much  surprised  at  Signora 
Roselli's  unexpected  frame  of  mind,  as  at  the 
way  in  which  her  daughter  treated  him.  It  was 
not  that  she  shunned  him  ....  on  the  contrary, 
she  kept  constantly  seating  herself  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  him,  listening  to  his  remarks,  gazing 
at  him;  but  she  positively  declined  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  him,  and  just  as  soon  as  he  ad- 
dressed her,  she  rose  quietly  from  her  seat,  and 
quietly  withdrew  for  a  few  moments.    Then  she 

77 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

made  her  appearance  again,  and  again  seated  her- 
self somewhere  in  a  corner — and  sat  there  motion- 
less, as  though  meditating  and  bewildered — bewil- 
dered, most  of  all.  Frau  Lenore  herself  noticed, 
at  last,  the  unwontedness  of  her  behaviour,  and 
asked  her  a  couple  of  times  what  was  the  matter 
with  her. 

"  Nothing," — replied  Gemma;  "  thou  knowest 
that  I  am  like  this  at  times." 

"  That  is  true," — assented  her  mother. 

Thus  passed  the  whole  of  that  long  day,  in  a 
way  that  was  neither  animated  nor  languid, — nei- 
ther cheerful  nor  tiresome.  Had  Gemma  borne 
herself  otherwise,  Sanin  might— who  knows? — 
have  been  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  strut 
a  little,  or  might  have  yielded  to  the  feeling  of 
sadness  in  face  of  a  parting  which  might  prove 
eternal.  .  .  .  But,  as  he  never  succeeded,  even 
once,  in  speaking  to  Gemma,  he  was  obliged 
to  content  himself  with  striking  minor  chords  on 
the  piano  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  even- 
ing coffee  was  served. 

Emile  came  home  late,  and  with  the  object  of 
avoiding  interrogations  on  the  subject  of  Herr 
Kluber,  he  retired  very  soon.  Sanin's  turn  to 
withdraw  arrived. 

He  began  to  take  leave  of  Gemma.  For  some 
reason,  Lensky's  parting  from  Olga,  in  "  Onye- 
gin,"1   recurred  to  his  mind.     He  pressed  her 

1  Pushkin's  poem  "  Evgeny  Ony^gin."— Translator. 

78 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

hand  closely— and  tried  to  look  into  her  face— 
but  she  turned  away  slightly  and  freed  her 
fingers. 

XX 

The  sky  was  studded  with  stars  when  he  emerged 
on  the  steps.  And  how  many  of  those  stars  were 
sown  there,  big,  little,  yellow,  red,  blue,  white! 
They  were  all  fairly  glowing  and  swarming,  vy- 
ing with  one  another  in  darting  their  rays.  There 
was  no  moon  in  the  sky,  but  even  without  it  every 
object  was  distinctly  visible  in  the  half-light, 
shadeless  gloom.  Sanin  walked  down  the  street, 
to  the  very  end.  .  .  He  did  not  wish  to  return 
home  at  once ;  he  felt  the  need  of  roaming  about 
in  the  fresh  air.  He  turned  back — and  before 
he  had  got  opposite  the  house  in  which  the  Roselli 
confectionery  shop  was  located,  one  of  the  win- 
dows which  gave  on  the  street  suddenly  rattled 
and  opened — in  its  black  square  (there  was  no 
light  in  the  room)  a  woman's  form  appeared — 
and  he  heard  himself  called  by  name. 

"  Monsieur  Dimitri! " 

He  instantly  flew  to  the  window.  .  .  . 
Gemma ! 

She  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  sill,  and  bent 
forward. 

"  Monsieur  Dimitri," — she  began,  in  a  cau- 
tious   voice, — "  all    day    long,    to-day,    I    have 

79 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

wanted  to  give  you  a  certain  thing  ....  but 
could  not  make  up  my  mind ;  and  seeing  you  un- 
expectedly again,  I  thought,  evidently,  so  it  is 
decreed  by  fate.  ..." 

Gemma  involuntarily  paused  on  that  word. 
She  could  not  go  on;  something  remarkable  oc- 
curred at  that  moment. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  deep  silence, 
athwart  the  perfectly  cloudless  sky  swept  such 
a  gust  of  wind,  that  the  very  earth  seemed  to 
tremble  under  foot,  the  delicate  starlight  quivered 
and  rippled,  the  very  air  rolled  up  into  a  ball. 
The  whirlwind,  not  cold,  but  warm,  even  sultry, 
beat  upon  the  trees,  upon  the  roof  of  the  house, 
on  its  walls,  on  the  street;  it  instantly  tore  the 
hat  from  Sanin's  head,  ruffled  and  whirled  about 
Gemma's  black  curls.  Sanin's  head  was  on  a 
level  with  the  window-sill ;  he  involuntarily  leaned 
against  it — and  Gemma,  with  both  hands, 
clutched  at  his  shoulder,  and  fell  with  her  breast 
against  his  head.  The  uproar,  ringing  and  rat- 
tling, lasted  for  about  a  minute.  .  .  .  Like  a 
flock  of  huge  birds,  the  joyously  swirling  whirl- 
wind dashed  past.  .  .  Profound  silence  reigned 
once  more. 

Sanin  raised  himself,  and  beheld  above  him 
such  a  wondrous,  frightened,  excited  face,  such 
huge,  magnificent  eyes— he  beheld  such  a  beauty, 
that  his  heart  sank  within  him,  he  pressed  his  lips 
to  a  slender  lock  of  hair,  which   fell   over  his 

80 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

breast— and  could  say  nothing  except:  "Oh, 
Gemma!" 

"What  was  that?  Lightning?  "—she  asked, 
rolling  her  eyes  widely  around,  and  not  removing 
her  bare  arms  from  his  shoulders. 

"  Gemma!  "—repeated  Sanin. 

She  sighed,  cast  a  glance  behind  her  into  the 
room,— and  with  a  swift  movement  drawing 
from  her  bodice  an  already  withered  rose,  she 
tossed  it  to  Sanin. 

"  I  wanted  to  give  you  this  flower.  .  .  ." 

He  recognised  the  rose  which  he  had  captured 
the  day  before.  .  .  . 

But  the  little  window  had  already  slammed  to, 
and  behind  the  dark  panes  nothing  was  visible, 
there  was  no  gleam  of  white.  .  .  . 

Sanin  reached  home  without  a  hat.  .  .  .  He 
did  not  even  notice  that  he  had  lost  it. 

XXI 

He  fell  asleep  just  before  dawn.  And  it  is  not 
surprising!  Under  the  shock  of  that  sudden 
summer  whirlwind,  he  had  instantaneously  felt- 
not  precisely  that  Gemma  was  a  beauty,  not  pre- 
cisely that  he  liked  her— he  had  known  that  be- 
fore ....  but  that  he  had  all  but  fallen  in  love 
with  her!  Love  had  descended  upon  him  as  in- 
stantaneously as  that  whirlwind.  And  there  was 
that  stupid  duel!    Melancholy  forebodings  began 

81 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  torture  him.  Well,  assuming  that  he  were  not 
killed.  .  .  What  could  come  of  his  love  for  that 
young  girl,  for  the  betrothed  bride  of  another 
man?  Assuming,  even,  that  that  "other"  was 
not  dangerous  to  him,  that  Gemma  herself  would 
fall  in  love  with  him  or  had  already  fallen  in  love 
with  him.  .  .  .  What  of  that?  What  then? 
Such  a  beauty!  .... 

He  paced  the  room,  seated  himself  at  the  table, 
took  a  sheet  of  paper,  scribbled  a  few  lines  on  it 
— and  immediately  crossed  them  out.  .  .  .  He 
recalled  to  mind  Gemma's  wonderful  figure,  in 
the  dark  window,  beneath  the  rays  of  the  stars, 
all  fluttering  in  the  warm  gale;  he  recalled  her 
marble  arms,  like  the  arms  of  Olympian  god- 
desses ;  he  felt  their  living  burden  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. ...  Then  he  picked  up  the  rose  which  had 
been  tossed  to  him — it  seemed  to  him  that  its  half- 
withered  petals  exhaled  another  and  still  more 
delicate  perfume  than  the  ordinary  fragrance  of 
roses.  .  .  . 

:<  And  suppose  he  were  to  be  killed  or 
maimed  ? " 

He  did  not  lie  down  on  his  bed,  but  fell  asleep, 
fully  dressed,  on  the  couch.  Some  one  tapped 
him  on  the  shoulder.  .  .  . 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  beheld  Pantaleone. 

"  He  sleeps  like  Alexander  of  Macedon  on  the 
eve  of  the  battle  of  Babylon!  "—exclaimed  the 
old  man. 

82 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Why,  what  o'clock  is  it?  "—asked  Sanin. 

"A  quarter  to  seven;  it  is  a  two  hours'  drive 
to  Hanau,  and  we  should  be  the  first  on  the 
ground.  Russians  always  forestall  the  enemy! 
I  have  hired  the  best  carriage  in  Frankfurt! ' 

Sanin  began  to  wash  himself.— "And  where 
are  the  pistols  ?  " 

"  That  ferrofluchto  Tedesco  will  bring  the  pis- 
tols.   And  he  will  bring  a  doctor  also." 

Pantaleone  had,  evidently,  summoned  up  his 
courage,  as  on  the  preceding  day;  but  when  he 
seated  himself  in  the  carriage  with  Sanin,  when 
the  coachman  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  horses 
set  out  at  a  gallop,— a  sudden  change  came  over 
the  former  singer  and  friend  of  the  Padua  dra- 
goons. He  grew  confused,  and  even  turned  cow- 
ard. Something  seemed  to  fall  to  ruin  within 
him,  like  a  badly  constructed  wall. 

"  But  what  is  this  we  are  doing,  my  God,  San- 
tissima  Madonna!"— he  exclaimed,  in  an  unex- 
pectedly squeaking  voice,  and  clutched  his  hair. 
"  What  am  I  about,  old  fool,  madman,  frenetico 
that  I  am! " 

Sanin  was  amazed,  and  burst  out  laughing; 
and  lightly  embracing  Pantaleone's  waist,  he  re- 
minded him  of  the  French  maxim :  "  Le  vin  est 
tire—il  faut  le  boire." 

"  Yes,  yes,"— replied  the  old  man;—"  you  and 
I  are  to  drain  that  cup  together,— and,  neverthe- 
less, I  am  a  lunatic !    I  'm  a  lunatic !    Everything 

83 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

was  so  quiet,  so  nice  ....  and  all  of  a  sudden: 
ta-ta-ta,  tra-ta-ta! " 

"  Just  like  the  tutti  in  an  orchestra," — re- 
marked Sanin,  with  a  forced  smile.  "  But  you  are 
not  to  blame." 

"I  know  that  I  am  not!  I  should  think  not! 
Nevertheless,  this  is  ...  .  such  an  unbridled  pro- 
ceeding. Diavolo!  Diavolo!" — repeated  Pan- 
taleone,  shaking  his  crest  of  hair  and  heaving  a 
sigh. 

But  still  the  carriage  rolled  on  and  on. 

It  was  a  delightful  morning.  The  streets  of 
Frankfurt,  which  were  barely  beginning  to  grow 
animated,  seemed  so  clean  and  comfortable;  the 
windows  of  the  houses  shone  with  glinting  re- 
flections, like  tinsel;  and  as  soon  as  the  carriage 
had  emerged  beyond  the  city  barrier  the  loud 
trills  of  the  larks  fairly  showered  down  from  on 
high,  from  the  sky  which  was  not  yet  bright. 
All  at  once,  at  a  turn  in  the  highway,  from  be- 
hind a  lofty  poplar-tree  a  familiar  form  made 
its  appearance,  advanced  a  few  paces,  and  came 
to  a  halt.  Sanin  scrutinised  it.  .  .  .  Great 
heavens !    Emile ! 

"Does  he  know  anything  about  this?"— he 
asked  Pantaleone. 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  am  a  lunatic," 
— roared  the  poor  Italian,  in  despair,  almost  in 
a  yell. — "  That  unfortunate  lad  gave  me  no  peace 
all  night— and  at  last,  this  morning,  I  revealed 
everything  to  him! " 

84 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  There  's  segredezza  for  you ! "  thought  Sanin. 

The  carriage  came  even  with  Emile.  Sanin  or- 
dered the  coachman  to  stop  the  horses,  and  called 
the  "  unfortunate  lad "  to  him.  Emile  ap- 
proached with  irresolute  steps,  pale— pale  as  on 
the  day  of  his  fit.    He  could  hardly  keep  his  feet. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"— Sanin  asked 
him,  sternly;—"  why  are  you  not  at  home? ' 

"  Permit  me  ...  .  permit  me  to  go  with  you," 
—faltered  Emile,  in  a  trembling  voice,  as  he 
clasped  his  hands.  His  teeth  chattered,  as  in  a 
fever.  "  I  will  not  get  in  your  way — only  take 
me  I 

"  If  you  feel  the  smallest  iota  of  attachment 
for  me,"— said  Sanin,—"  you  will  instantly  re- 
turn home,  or  to  Herr  Kluber's  shop,  and  you 
will  not  say  a  single  word  to  any  one,  and  you  will 
await  my  return! " 

"  Your  return,"— groaned  Emile— and  his 
voice  jangled  and  broke.    "  But  if  you 

"  Emile!  "—Sanin  interrupted  him— and  in- 
dicated the  coachman  with  his  eyes,—"  come  to 
your  senses!  Emile,  please  go  home!  Listen  to 
me,  my  friend!  You  assert  that  you  love  me. 
Well,  then  I  entreat  you." 

He  offered  him  his  hand.  Emile  swayed  for- 
ward, gulped  down  a  sob,  pressed  it  to  his  lips — 
and  springing  out  of  the  road,  ran  back  to  Frank- 
furt, across  the  fields. 

"  That  's  a  noble  heart  also,"— muttered  Pan- 
taleone;  but  Sanin  glared  grimly  at  him.  .  .  . 

85 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  old  man  cuddled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  car- 
riage. He  recognised  his  fault;  but,  in  addi- 
tion to  that,  with  every  passing  moment  he  grew 
more  and  more  amazed.  Could  it  be  that  he  had 
really  constituted  himself  a  second,  and  that  he 
had  got  horses,  and  made  all  the  arrangements, 
and  had  quitted  his  peaceful  habitation  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning?  Moreover,  his  legs  had 
begun  to  ache  and  throb. 

Sanin  considered  it  necessary  to  restore  his 
courage — and  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  found  the 
proper  remark. 

"  What  has  become  of  your  former  spirit,  re- 
spected Signor  Cippatola?  Where  is  il  antico 
valor?  " 

Signor  Cippatola  straightened  himself  up, 
and  frowned. 

"  II  antico  valor?  " — he  proclaimed,  in  a  bass 
voice.  " Non  b  ancora  spento —  (It  is  not  yet  all 
exhausted) — il  antico  valor!!3' 

He  assumed  an  air  of  dignity,  began  to  talk 
about  his  career,  about  the  opera,  about  the  great 
tenor  Garcia — and  arrived  at  Hanau  a  valiant 
man.  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  more  potent — and  more 
impotent— than  words! 


86 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXII 

The  little  wood  in  which  the  conflict  was  to  take 
place  was  situated  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
Hanau.  Sanin  and  Pantaleone  were  the  first  to 
arrive,  as  the  latter  had  predicted;  they  ordered 
the  carriage  to  wait  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and 
plunged  into  the  shadow  of  the  tolerably  thick 
and  dense  trees.  They  were  obliged  to  wait  about 
an  hour. 

But  the  waiting  did  not  seem  particularly  op- 
pressive to  Sanin ;  he  walked  to  and  fro  along  the 
path,  lent  an  ear  to  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
watched  the  dragon-flies  flitting  past,  and,  like 
the  majority  of  Russians  under  such  circum- 
stances, tried  not  to  think.  Once,  only,  did  pen- 
siveness  descend  upon  him.  He  chanced  upon 
a  young  linden-tree,  broken  off,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, by  the  squall  of  the  preceding  day.  It  was 
completely  dead  ....  all  the  leaves  on  it  were 
dead.  "What  is  this?  An  omen?"  flashed 
through  his  mind.  But  he  immediately  began 
to  whistle,  jumped  over  that  linden-tree,  and 
strode  along  the  path.  Pantaleone  growled, 
cursed  the  Germans,  grunted,  scratched  now  his 
back,  now  his  knees.  He  even  yawned  with 
emotion,  which  imparted  a  very  droll  expression 
to  his  tiny,  puckered  face.  Sanin  almost  roared 
with  laughter  as  he  looked  at  him. 

87 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

At  last  the  rumble  of  wheels  on  the  smooth 
road  became  audible. — "  'T  is  they!  " — said  Pan- 
taleone,  growing  alert,  and  drew  himself  up, 
not  without  a  momentary,  nervous  shudder, 
which,  however,  he  hastened  to  mask  with  the  ex- 
clamation: "br-r-r-r!"  and  the  remark  that  the 
morning  was  decidedly  chilly.  An  abundance 
of  dew  flooded  the  grass  and  the  foliage,  but  the 
sultry  heat  had  already  made  its  way  even  into 
the  forest. 

Both  officers  speedily  made  their  appearance 
beneath  its  arches;  they  were  accompanied  by  a 
short,  plump  man  with  a  phlegmatic,  almost 
sleepy  face— the  military  doctor.  He  carried  in 
one  hand  an  earthen  vessel  of  water — on  the 
chance  of  its  being  required;  a  bag,  with  sur- 
gical instruments  and  bandages,  dangled  over 
his  left  shoulder.  It  was  evident  that  he  had 
grown  used,  to  an  extreme  degree,  to  such  excur- 
sions; they  constituted  one  of  his  sources  of  rev- 
enue; every  duel  brought  him  in  eight  ducats 
— four  from  each  of  the  belligerent  parties. 
Herr  von  Richter  carried  a  case  with  pistols; 
Herr  von  Donhof  was  twirling  in  his  hand — 
probably  for  the  "  chic  "  of  it —  a  small  riding- 
whip. 

"  Pantaleone!  " — whispered  Sanin  to  the  old 
man, — "if  ....  if  I  am  killed — anything  may 
happen — get  a  paper  out  of  my  side-pocket,  with 
the  flower  that  is  wrapped  in  it,— and  give  the 

88 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

paper  to  Signorina  Gemma.    Do  you  hear?    Do 
you  promise?  " 

The  old  man  cast  a  dejected  glance  at  him— 
and  nodded  his  head  affirmatively.  .  .  .  But 
God  knows  whether  he  understood  what  Sanin 
asked  him. 

The  antagonists  and  seconds  exchanged  bows, 
as  is  customary;  the  doctor,  alone,  did  not  move 
so  much  as  an  eyebrow— and  seated  himself, 
with  a  yawn,  on  the  grass,  as  much  as  to  say: 
"  I  don't  feel  in  the  mood  for  displaying  chival- 
rous politeness."  Herr  von  Richter  proposed 
to  Signor  "  Tshibadola "  that  he  should  select 
the  place;  Signor  "Tshibadola"  replied,  wag- 
ging his  tongue  feebly  (the  wall  inside  him 
had  crumbled  down  again ) ,  something  to  this 
effect:  "Do  you  act,  my  dear  sir,  and  I  will 
watch.  .  .  ." 

And  Herr  von  Richter  began  to  act.  He 
searched  out,  there  in  the  little  wood,  a  very  nice 
little  glade,  all  dotted  with  flowers;  he  paced  off 
the  distance,  marked  the  two  extreme  limits  with 
hastily  sharpened  little  sticks,  took  the  pistols  out 
of  the  case,  and  squatting  down  on  his  heels,  he 
rammed  in  the  bullets.  In  a  word,  he  toiled  and 
laboured  with  all  his  might,  incessantly  mopping 
his  perspiring  face  with  a  white  handkerchief. 
Pantaleone,  who  accompanied  him,  more  resem- 
bled a  frozen  man.  While  all  these  preparations 
were  in  progress,  the  two  antagonists  stood  aloof, 

89 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

reminding  one  of  two  chastised  school-boys  who 
are  pouting  at  their  tutors. 

The  decisive  moment  arrived.  .  .  . 

Each  took  his  pistol.  .  .  . 

But  at  this  point  Herr  von  Richter  remarked 
to  Pantaleone,  that,  according  to  the  rules  of  du- 
elling, it  was  his  place,  as  the  elder  of  the  seconds, 
before  pronouncing  the  fatal:  "One!  two!  three!" 
to  address  to  the  combatants  a  final  counsel  and 
proposition  that  they  become  reconciled ;  that,  al- 
though that  proposition  never  had  any  result,  and 
was,  in  general,  nothing  but  an  empty  formality, 
still,  by  complying  with  that  formality,  Signor 
Cippatola  would  remove  from  his  own  shoulders 
a  certain  amount  of  responsibility;  that,  to  tell 
the  truth,  such  an  allocution  constituted  a  direct 
obligation  of  the  so-called  "impartial  witness" 
(unpartheiischer  Zeuge)  — but,  as  they  had  no 
such  witness,  he,  Herr  von  Richter,  gladly  re- 
signed that  privilege  to  his  respected  colleague. 
Pantaleone,  who  had  already  managed  to  hide 
himself  behind  a  bush,  so  that  he  might  not  see 
the  offending  officer  at  all,  did  not,  at  first,  un- 
derstand a  word  of  Herr  von  Richter's  speech, 
— the  more  so,  as  it  was  uttered  through  the 
nose;  but  he  suddenly  gave  a  start,  stepped 
briskly  forward,  and  beating  his  breast  convul- 
sively with  his  hands,  he  roared  out,  with  a  hoarse 
voice,  in  his  mixed  dialect :  "A  la  la  la  .  .  .  .  Che 
bestialita!    Deuce  zeun'ommes  comme  ca  que  si 

90 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

battono—perche?      Che    diavolo?      Andate    a 

casa! " 

"I  do  not  agree  to  a  reconciliation,"— said 

Sanin,  hastily.  j 

"  Neither  do  I  agree,"— repeated  his  adversary 
after  him. 

"Well,  then,  shout:  'One,  two,  three!'"  said 
Herr  von  Richter,  turning  to  the  disconcerted 
Pantaleone. 

The  latter  immediately  dived  into  the  bush 
again— and  thence  shouted  out,  all  curled  up,  and 
with  his  eyes  tightly  closed,  and  his  head  turned 
away,  but  at  the  top  of  his  lungs:  "  Una  .... 
due  .  .  .  .  e  tre! " 

Sanin  shot  first— and  missed.  His  bullet  rat- 
tled against  a  tree.  Baron  Donhof  fired  imme- 
diately after  him— intentionally  to  one  side,  and 
in  the  air. 

A  strained  silence  ensued.  .  .  .  No  one  stirred 
from  his  place.  Pantaleone  uttered  a  faint  ex- 
clamation. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  continue?  "—said  Donhof. 

"Why  did  you  fire  into  the  air?"— asked 
Sanin. 

"  That  is  no  business  of  yours." 

"  Are  you  going  to  fire  into  the  air  a  second 
time?  " — asked  Sanin  again. 

"  Perhaps  so;  I  don't  know." 

"  Permit  me,  permit  me,  gentlemen  .  .  .  ." 
began  von  Richter;—"  the  duellists  have  no  right 

91 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  talk  to  each  other.  That  is  entirely  out  of 
order." 

'  I  renounce  my  shot,"— said  Sanin,  flinging 
his  pistol  on  the  ground. 

"  And  I,  also,  have  no  intention  of  continuing 
the  duel," — exclaimed  Donhof,  also  flinging 
away  his  pistol.  "  Yes,  and  more  than  that,  I 
am  now  ready  to  admit  that  I  was  not  in  the  right 
— day  before  yesterday." 

He  fidgeted  about  where  he  stood,  and  put  out 
his  hand,  in  an  undecided  way. 

Sanin  swiftly  approached  him,— and  shook  it. 
The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other  smil- 
ingly,— and  the  faces  of  both  flushed  crimson. 

r'  Bravi!  bravi! " — suddenly  roared  Pantaleone, 
like  a  madman — and,  clapping  his  hands,  he 
rushed  head  over  heels  out  of  the  bush;  and  the 
doctor,  who  had  seated  himself  on  one  side,  upon 
a  felled  tree,  immediately  rose,  poured  the  water 
out  of  the  jug — and  walked  off,  lazily  swaying 
his  hips,  to  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

"  Honour  is  satisfied — and  the  duel  is  at  an 
end!  "—proclaimed  Herr  von  Richter. 

"  Fuori!"— again  shouted  Pantaleone,  from 
force  of  ancient  habit. 

After  having  exchanged  salutes  with  the  officers, 
and  taken  his  seat  once  more  in  the  carriage, 
Sanin,  truth  to  tell,  felt  in  all  his  being,  if  not 
satisfaction,  at  least  a  certain  lightness,  as  after 

92 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

an  operation  has  been  undergone;  but  another 
feeling,  akin  to  shame,  was  beginning  to  stir 
within  him.  .  .  .  The  duel  in  which  he  had  just 
taken  part  appeared  to  him  a  falsehood,  a  pre- 
viously agreed-upon,  official,  commonplace  stu- 
dent's jest.  He  recalled  the  phlegmatic  doctor, 
he  recalled  how  he  had  smiled — that  is  to  say,  had 
wrinkled  up  his  nose— when  he  beheld  him  emerge 
from  the  wood  almost  arm-in-arm  with  Baron 
Donhof.  And  then,  when  Pantaleone  had  paid 
over  to  that  same  doctor  the  four  ducats  which 
were  his  due — ekh!  something  was  wrong! 

Yes,  Sanin  was  somewhat  conscience-stricken 
and  mortified  ....  although,  on  the  other 
hand,  what  else  was  there  for  him  to  do?  He 
could  not  have  left  unchastised  the  insolence  of 
the  young  officer,  he  could  not  have  imitated  Herr 
Kluber?  He  had  stood  up  for  Gemma,  he  had 
defended  her.  .  .  .  That  was  so;  but,  neverthe- 
less, his  soul  ached,  and  he  was  conscience- 
stricken,  and  even  mortified. 

On  the  other  hand,  Pantaleone — simply  tri- 
umphed! Pride  had  suddenly  taken  possession 
of  him.  A  victorious  general,  returning  from 
the  field  of  battle  won  by  him,  could  not  have 
gazed  about  him  with  greater  self-satisfaction. 
Sanin's  behaviour  during  the  duel  had  filled  him 
with  rapture.  He  lauded  him  for  a  hero— and 
would  not  listen  to  his  exhortations  and  even  en- 
treaties.    He  compared  him  to  a  monument  of 

93 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

marble,  or  even  of  bronze— to  the  statue  of  the 
Commander  in  "Don  Giovanni!"  As  for  him- 
self, he  admitted  that  he  had  felt  some  consterna- 
tion;— "but  I  'm  an  artist,  you  see,"— he  re- 
marked,— "  I  have  a  nervous  nature,  but  you  are 
a  son  of  the  snows  and  granite  cliffs." 

Sanin  positively  did  not  know  how  to  put  a 
stopper  on  the  artist,  who  had  mounted  his  high 
horse. 

Almost  at  the  identical  point  on  the  road  where 
they  had  found  Emile  a  couple  of  hours  before, 
he  again  sprang  out  from  behind  a  tree,  and 
with  a  joyful  cry  on  his  lips,  waving  his  cap  over 
his  head,  and  skipping  and  leaping,  he  rushed 
straight  at  the  carriage,  came  near  falling  under 
the  wheels,  and  without  waiting  for  the  horses  to 
come  to  a  halt,  clambered  over  the  closed  door 
and  fairly  feasted  his  eyes  on  Sanin. 

"You  are  alive,  you  are  not  wounded!" — he 
kept  repeating.  "  Forgive  me,  I  did  not  obey 
you,  I  did  not  return  to  Frankfurt.  ...  I  could 
not!  I  waited  for  you  here.  .  .  .  Tell  me  how 
it  went  off — you  ....  did  you  kill  him?" 

With  difficulty  Sanin  quieted  Emile,  and  made 
him  seat  himself. 

With  much  verbosity,  with  evident  satisfac- 
tion, Pantaleone  communicated  to  him  all  the 
details  of  the  duel,  and,  of  course,  did  not  fail  to 
mention  the  monument  of  bronze,  the  statue  of 

94 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  Commander !  He  even  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
straddling  his  legs  apart  to  preserve  his  equili- 
brium, folding  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  casting 
glances  of  scorn  over  his  shoulder — he  presented 
a  visible  image  of  Commander  Sanin !  Emile  lis- 
tened with  reverence,  now  and  then  interrupting 
the  narration  by  an  exclamation,  or  hastily  rising 
half-way,  and  as  hastily  kissing  his  heroic  friend. 

The  carriage-wheels  rattled  on  the  pavements 
of  Frankfurt— and  halted,  at  last,  in  front  of  the 
hotel  in  which  Sanin  dwelt. 

Escorted  by  his  two  fellow-travellers,  he  was 
mounting  the  stairs  to  the  second  story,  when, 
suddenly,  from  a  dark,  narrow  corridor,  a  woman 
emerged  with  hasty  steps;  her  face  was  covered 
with  a  veil;  she  halted  in  front  of  Sanin,  reeled 
slightly,  gave  a  palpitating  sigh,  and  immediately 
ran  down-stairs  to  the  street — and  vanished,  to 
the  great  amazement  of  the  waiter,  who  an- 
nounced that  "that  lady  had  been  awaiting  the 
return  of  Monsieur  the  Foreigner  for  more  than 
an  hour  past."  Momentary  as  was  her  appear- 
ance, Sanin  succeeded  in  recognising  her  as 
Gemma.  He  recognised  her  eyes,  beneath  the 
thick  silk  veil,  light  brown  in  hue. 

"  Did  Fraulein  Gemma  know  .  .  ."  he  said 
slowly,  in  a  voice  of  displeasure,  addressing  him- 
self in  German  to  Emile  and  Pantaleone,  who 
were  following  on  his  heels. 

Emile  flushed  scarlet  and  grew  confused. 

95 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  I  was  forced  to  tell  her  everything,"— he 
stammered, — "  she  guessed  it— and  I  could  not 
possibly.  .  .  .  But  that  is  of  no  consequence  now, 
you  see," — he  caught  himself  up  with  vivacity, — 
"  everything  turned  out  so  well,  and  she  has  seen 
you  safe  and  uninjured! " 

Sanin  turned  away. 

"  What  a  party  of  chatterers  you  are!  "  he  said 
with  vexation,  entering  his  own  room,  and  seat- 
ing himself  on  a  chair. 

"Don't  be  angry,  please,"— said  Emile. 

"Very  well,  I  will  not,"— (Sanin  really  was 
not  angry,— and,  of  course,  it  was  hardly  possible 
for  him  to  wish  that  Gemma  should  know  no- 
thing). "Very  well  .  .  .  have  done  with  your 
embraces.  Go  away  now,  I  'm  going  to  sleep. 
I  want  to  be  alone.    I  'm  tired." 

"  A  splendid  idea!  "—exclaimed  Pantaleone. 
"  You  need  rest !  You  have  fully  earned  it,  noble 
signore!  Come  along,  Emilio!  On  tiptoe!  On 
tiptoe!    Sssssssh!" 

In  saying  that  he  wished  to  sleep,  Sanin's  sole 
object  was  to  rid  himself  of  his  companions;  but 
when  he  was  left  alone,  he  really  did  feel  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  fatigue  in  all  his  limbs.  He 
had  hardly  closed  an  eye  during  the  whole  of  the 
previous  night,  and  throwing  himself  on  the  bed, 
he  immediately  sank  into  a  deep  sleep. 

96 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXIII 

He  slept  for  several  hours  in  succession,  without 
waking.  Then  he  began  to  dream  that  he  was 
again  fighting  the  duel,  that  Herr  Kliiber  was 
standing  opposite  him,  in  the  capacity  of  his  an- 
tagonist, and  that  on  a  fir-tree  sat  a  parrot — and 
the  parrot  was  Pantaleone,  and  it  kept  reiterat- 
ing, as  it  waggled  its  bill:  "One— one— one!  one 
— one — one — one!" 

4  One  ....  one  ....  one!  !  "  he  heard  quite  too 
plainly.  He  opened  his  eyes,  half  raised  his  head. 
....  Some  one  was  tapping  at  his  door. 

"Come  in!"  shouted  Sanin. 

The  waiter  made  his  appearance,  and  an- 
nounced that  a  lady  was  extremely  anxious  to  see 
him. 

'  Gemma!  "—flashed  through  his  head  .  .  .  . 
but  the  lady  turned  out  to  be  her  mother— Frau 
Lenore. 

As  soon  as  she  entered,  she  sank  on  a  chair  and 
began  to  weep. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  good,  dear 
Signora  Roselli?" — began  Sanin,  seating  him- 
self by  her  side,  and  touching  her  hand  with  a 
gentle  caress.  '  What  has  happened?  Calm 
yourself,  I  entreat  you." 

'  Akh,  Herr  Dimitri,  I  am  very  ....  very 
unhappy! " 

97 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


You  are  unhappy? " 

Akh,  very!    And  could  I  have  expected  it? 
All  at  once,  like  thunder  in  a  clear  sky.  ..." 

She  drew  her  breath  with  difficulty. 

'  But  what  is  it?  Explain  yourself!  Would 
you  like  a  glass  of  water?  " 

'  No,  I  thank  you.  .  ."  Frau  Lenore  wiped 
her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  fell  to  weep- 
ing again,  with  fresh  vigour.—"  You  see,  I  know 
everything!    Everything!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  everything '? " 

"Everything  that  has  taken  place  to-day! 
And  the  cause  ....  is  known  to  me  also !  You 
have  behaved  like  a  gentleman;  but  what  an  un- 
fortunate combination  of  circumstances !  'T  was 
not  for  nothing  that  I  did  not  like  that  trip  to 
Soden.  .  .  .  Not  for  nothing! "  (Frau  Lenore  had 
said  nothing  of  the  sort  on  the  day  of  the  excur- 
sion, but  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  fore- 
seen "  everything.")  — "  And  I  have  come  to  you, 
as  to  a  gentleman,  as  to  a  friend,  although  I  saw 
you  for  the  first  time  five  days  ago.  .  .  .  But, 
you  know,  I  am  a  widow,  alone.  .  .  My  daugh- 

ItM      •     •     •     • 

Tears  choked  Frau  Lenore's  voice.  Sanin  did 
not  know  what  to  think.—"  Your  daughter?  "— 
he  repeated  after  her. 

"My  daughter,  Gemma," — burst  almost  in  a 
groan  from  beneath  Frau  Lenore's  tear-drenched 
handkerchief,— "has    announced   to   me   to-day 

98 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

that  she  will  not  marry  Herr  Kluber,  and  that 
I  must  dismiss  him !  " 

Sanin  even  fell  back  a  little.  He  had  not  ex- 
pected this. 

"  I  will  not  allude  to  the  fact,"— pursued  Frau 
Lenore,— "  that  no  such  thing  ever  happened  in 
the  world,  as  a  betrothed  girl's  rejecting  her  be- 
trothed husband;  but,  you  see,  that  means  our 
ruin,  Herr  Dimitril"— Frau  Lenore  rolled  her 
handkerchief  carefully  and  tightly  into  a  tiny, 
tiny  ball,  as  though  she  were  trying  to  lock  up 
in  it  all  her  woe.—"  We  are  no  longer  able  to  live 
on  the  income  from  our  shop,  Herr  Dimitri !  and 
Herr  Kluber  is  very  rich,  and  will  be  still  richer. 
And  why  reject  him?  Because  he  did  not  stand 
up  for  his  betrothed?  Let  us  grant  that  it 
was  not  quite  nice  on  his  part;  but,  you  see, 
he  is  a  civilian,  he  was  not  educated  in  a  univer- 
sity, and,  as  a  staid  merchant,  he  is  bound  to 
despise  the  frivolous  pranks  of  an  unknown 
officer.  And  what  sort  of  an  insult  was  it,  Herr 
Dimitri?" 

"  Pardon  me,  Frau  Lenore,  you  appear  to  be 
condemning  me.  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  not  condemning  you  in  the  least !  It  is 
quite  another  matter  with  you.  You,  like  all 
Russians,  are  a  military  man  .  .  .  ." 

"Excuse  me,  I  am  not  a  .  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  a  foreigner,  a  passing  traveller,  I 
am  grateful  to  you,"— went  on  Frau  Lenore, 

99 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

without  heeding  Sanin.  She  sighed,  threw  out 
her  hands,  spread  the  handkerchief  out  again, 
and  blew  her  nose.  From  the  very  way  in  which 
her  grief  manifested  itself,  it  could  be  seen  that 
she  had  not  been  born  under  a  northern  sky. — 
'  And  how  is  Herr  Kliiber  to  trade  in  his  shop, 
if  he  fights  with  his  patrons?  That  is  totally 
incompatible!  And  now  I  must  dismiss  him! 
But  what  are  we  to  live  on?  In  former  days  we 
made  althea  paste,  and  nougat  with  pistachio 
nuts — and  customers  came  to  us;  but  now  every- 
body makes  althea  paste!  Just  reflect:  even 
without  this  there  will  be  talk  in  the  town  over 
your  duel  .  .  .  can  it  be  concealed?  And  all  of 
a  sudden  the  marriage  is  broken  off!  Why,  that 
is  a  scandal,  a  scandal!  Gemma  is  a  very  fine 
girl,  she  is  very  fond  of  me ;  but  she  is  a  stubborn 
republican,  she  defies  the  opinion  of  others.  You 
alone  can  persuade  her!  " 

Sanin  was  more  astonished  than  before. — "  I, 
Frau  Lenore? " 

"  Yes,  you  alone.  .  .  .  You  alone.  That  is 
why  I  came  to  you.  I  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing else!  You  are  such  a  learned,  such  a  nice 
man!  You  stood  up  for  her.  She  will  believe 
you!  She  must  believe  you — surely,  you  have 
risked  your  life  for  her!  You  will  prove  to  her — 
but  I  can  do  no  more! — You  will  prove  to  her 
that  she  will  ruin  herself  and  all  the  rest  of  us. 
You  have  saved  my  son— save  my  daughter  also! 

100 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

God  himself  has  sent  you  hither.  .  .  I  am  ready 
to  implore  you  on  my  knees !  " 

And  Frau  Lenore  half  rose  from  her  chair,  as 
though  preparing  to  throw  herself  at  Sanin's 
feet.  .  .  .  He  restrained  her. 

'  Frau  Lenore !     For  God's  sake !    What  are 
you  doing?  " 

'  Do  you  promise  ?    You  would  not  have  me 
fall  dead  here,  before  your  eyes?  " 

Sanin  was  distracted.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  deal  with  Italian  blood 
aflame. 

'  I  will  do  anything  you  like! " — he  cried.    "  I 
will  talk  with  Fraulein  Gemma.  .  .  ." 

Frau  Lenore  screamed  with  joy. 

f  Only,  really,  I  don't  know  what  the  result 
will  be.  .  .  ." 

"  Akh,  do  not  refuse,  do  not  refuse!" — said 
Frau  Lenore,  in  an  imploring  voice.  "  You  have 
already  consented !  The  result  will,  assuredly,  be 
excellent!  At  any  rate,  I  can  do  no  more.  She 
will  not  listen  to  me! " 

"  Has  she  announced  to  you,  in  such  decisive 
terms,  her  disinclination  to  marry  Herr  Kluber? " 
— inquired  Sanin,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"  She  cut  as  with  a  knife!  She  's  exactly  like 
her  father,  Giovan'  Battista!  The  intractable 
creature ! " 

"  Intractable?  She?  .  .  ."  repeated  Sanin, 
slowly. 

101 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Yes  ....  yes  ....  but  she  is  an  angel  also. 
She  will  listen  to  you.  You  will  come,  you  will 
come  soon?  Oh,  my  dear  Russian  friendl" — 
Frau  Lenore  rose  impulsively  from  her  chair,  and 
with  equal  impulsiveness  embraced  the  head  of 
Sanin,  who  was  sitting  before  her. — "  Accept  a 
mother's  blessing — and  give  me  some  water! ' 

Sanin  brought  Signora  Roselli  a  glass  of 
water,  gave  her  his  word  of  honour  that  he  would 
go  immediately,  escorted  her  down  the  stairs  to 
the  street — and,  on  returning  to  his  room,  he  even 
wrung  his  hands,  and  opened  his  eyes  to  their 
fullest  extent. 

"  Here," — he  thought, — "  here,  now,  my  life 
has  taken  a  turn!  Yes,  and  such  a  turn  that  my 
head  reels  with  it."  He  did  not  even  attempt  to 
look  within  himself,  to  understand  what  was 
going  on  there:  a  hubbub — and  that  is  all  there 
was  to  it!  "What  a  day  this  has  been!" — his 
lips  whispered  involuntarily.  " '  Intractable ' 
....  her  mother  says.  .  .  .  And  I  am  to  advise 
her  .  .  .  ei!    And  what  am  I  to  advise  V' 

Sanin's  head  really  reeled — and  above  all  this 
whirlwind  of  varied  sensations,  impressions,  un- 
expressed thoughts,  floated  constantly  the  image 
of  Gemma,  that  image  which  had  graven  itself 
ineffaceably  in  his  memory  on  that  warm,  electric- 
ally-shaken night,  in  that  dark  window,  beneath 
the  rays  of  the  swarming  stars! 


102 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXIV 

With  irresolute  steps  Sanin  approached  the 
house  of  Signora  Roselli.  His  heart  was  beating 
violently;  he  plainly  felt  it,  and  even  heard  it 
thumping  against  his  ribs.  What  was  he  to  say 
to  Gemma,  how  was  he  to  begin  the  conversation 
with  her?  He  entered  the  house  not  through  the 
confectionery  shop,  but  by  the  rear  door.  In  the 
small  entrance-room  he  encountered  Frau  Le- 
nore.  She  was  both  delighted  to  see  him,  and 
terrified. 

"I  have  been  waiting,  waiting  for  you,"— she 
said,  in  a  whisper,  squeezing  his  hand  with  both 
her  hands  alternately.  "  Go  into  the  garden;  she 
is  there.    And  see  here;  I  depend  upon  you  I " 

Sanin  betook  himself  to  the  garden. 

Gemma  was  sitting  on  a  bench  near  the  path, 
and  from  a  large  basket  filled  with  cherries  was 
sorting  out  the  ripest  upon  a  plate.  The  sun 
hung  low — it  was  already  between  six  and  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening — and  there  was  more  of 
crimson  than  of  gold  in  the  broad  rays  with 
which  it  flooded  Signora  Roselli's  little  garden. 
From  time  to  time  the  leaves  whispered  together, 
almost  inaudibly,  and  as  though  at  leisure,  and 
belated  bees  buzzed  disconnectedly  from  flower  to 
the  neighbouring  flower,  and  somewhere  a  turtle- 
dove was  cooing,  monotonously  and  unweariedly. 

103 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Gemma  wore  the  same  round  hat  in  which  she 
had  driven  to  Soden.  She  cast  a  glance  at  Sanin 
from  beneath  its  upturned  brim,  and  again  bent 
over  her  basket. 

Sanin  approached  Gemma,  involuntarily  mak- 
ing each  step  shorter  and  shorter,  and  ....  and 
.  .  .  and  found  nothing  else  to  say  to  her  than 
to  ask  why  she  was  sorting  the  cherries. 

Gemma  made  no  haste  in  replying  to  him. 

"These  are  over-ripe,"— she  said,  at  last.— 
"  They  will  do  for  preserves,  and  the  others  for 
filling  tarts.  You  know,  we  sell  those  round 
tarts,  with  sugar." 

So  saying,  Gemma  bent  her  head  still  lower, 
and  her  right  hand,  with  two  cherries  between 
its  fingers,  remained  suspended  in  the  air,  be- 
tween the  basket  and  the  plate. 

'  May  I  sit  down  beside  you?  " — asked  Sanin. 

"Yes." — Gemma  moved  along  a  little  on  the 
bench.  Sanin  seated  himself  by  her  side.  "  How 
shall  I  begin?  "  he  thought.  But  Gemma  extri- 
cated him  from  his  dilemma. 

"  You  fought  a  duel  to-day," — she  said,  with 
animation,  turning  her  lovely,  bashfully  blushing 
face  full  upon  him, — and  what  profound  grati- 
tude beamed  in  her  eyes! — "  And  you  are  so 
calm?  That  signifies  that  danger  does  not  exist 
for  you? " 

"Good  gracious!     I  did  not  subject  myself 

104 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  any  danger.  Everything  went  off  very  suc- 
cessfully and  inoffensively." 

Gemma  passed  her  ringer  to  right  and  left  in 
front  of  her  eyes.  .  .  .  Another  Italian  gesture. 
— "  No!  no!  do  not  say  that!  You  cannot  de- 
ceive me!    Pantaleone  has  told  me  all!  V 

'The  idea  of  his  telling  you!  Did  he  com- 
pare me  to  the  statue  of  the  Commander? ' 

'  His  expressions  may  be  ridiculous,  but  his 
feeling  is  not  ridiculous,  and  neither  is  that  which 
you  have  done  to-day.  And  all  for  my  sake  .  .  . 
for  my  sake.  .  .  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  assure  you,  Fraulein  Gemma  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it," — she  said,  pausing  be- 
tween the  words,  and  once  more  she  looked  fix- 
edly at  him,  and  turned  away. 

He  could  now  see  her  delicate,  pure  profile; 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  beheld 
anything  like  it — and  had  never  experienced  any- 
thing like  what  he  felt  at  that  moment.  His  soul 
burned  within  him.         .  . 

"And  my  promise!"— flashed  through  his 
thoughts. 

"  Fraulein  Gemma  .  .  .  ."  he  began,  after  a 
momentary  hesitation. 

"  What?  " 

She  did  not  turn  toward  him;  she  went  on  sort- 
ing the  cherries,  cautiously  seizing  their  stems 
in  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  carefully  lifting  the 

105 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

leaves.  .  .  .  But    how    confidingly    affectionate 
did  that  one  word,  "  what,"  sound! 

"  Has  your  mother  told  you  nothing  .  .  . 
about  .  .  .  ." 

"About?" 

"About  me?" 

Gemma  suddenly  threw  the  cherries  which  she 
had  picked  up  back  into  the  basket. 

"Has  she  been  talking  to  you?"— she  queried 
in  her  turn. 

"  Yes." 

"What  has  she  said?" 

"  She  told  me  that  you  .  .  .  that  you  had  sud- 
denly decided  to  change  ....  your  former  in- 
tentions." 

Gemma's  head  was  again  bent  low.  It  entirely 
disappeared  under  the  hat ;  nothing  but  her  neck, 
supple  and  soft  as  the  stalk  of  a  great  flower, 
was  visible. 

"What  intentions?" 

"  Your  intentions  ....  with  regard  to  ...  . 
the  future  organisation  of  your  life." 

"That  is  .  .  .  are  you  talking  about  .  .  ,  . 
Herr  Kluber? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  mamma  tell  you  that  I  did  not  wish  to 
be  Herr  Kluber's  wife?  " 

"  Yes." 

Gemma  moved  along  the  bench.  The  basket 
tipped,  fell  ....  several  cherries  rolled  along 

106 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  path.  One  minute  elapsed  ....  then  an- 
other. .  .  . 

"  Why  did  she  tell  you  that?  "—her  voice  made 
itself  heard.  As  before,  Sanin  beheld  only 
Gemma's  neck.  Her  bosom  was  rising  and  fall- 
ing more  quickly  than  before. 

"  Why,  your  mother  thought  that,  as  you  and 
I  had,  so  to  speak,  made  friends  in  a  short  time, 
and  you  had  some  degree  of  confidence  in  me,  I 
might  be  in  a  position  to  give  you  some  useful 
advice— and  that  you  would  heed  me." 

Gemma's  hands  slipped  softly  down  upon  her 
knees.  .  .  .  She  began  to  arrange  the  folds  of 
her  gown. 

"And  what  advice  are  you  going  to  give  me, 
M.  Dimitri?" — she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

Sanin  perceived  that  Gemma's  fingers  were 
trembling  on  her  knees.  .  .  .  She  was  arrang- 
ing the  folds  of  her  gown  merely  for  the  purpose 
of  hiding  that  tremor.  .  .  He  laid  his  hand  gen- 
tly on  those  pallid,  tremulous  fingers. 

"  Gemma,"— he  said, — "  why  do  you  not  look 
at  me? " 

She  instantly  tossed  her  hat  back  over  her 
shoulder— and  riveted  on  him  eyes  as  trusting 
and  grateful  as  ever.  She  waited  to  see  what  he 
would  say.  .  .  .  But  the  sight  of  her  face  con- 
fused, and,  as  it  were,  blinded  him.  The  warm 
glow  of  the  evening  sun  illumined  her  young 
head— and  the  expression  of  that  head  was  even 

107 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

T  > 

brighter    and    more    brilliant    than    that    glow 
itself. 

'  I  am  listening  to  you,  M.  Dimitri,"— she  be- 
gan, with  a  barely  perceptible  smile,  and  an  al- 
most  imperceptible   elevation  of  the  eyebrows; 
'  but  what  advice  are  you  going  to  give  me  ? ' 

"What  advice?"— repeated  Sanin.— T  Why, 
you  see,  your  mother  thinks  that  to  dismiss  Herr 
Kluber  simply  because  he  did  not  display  any 
particular  bravery  the  day  before  yesterday  . .  . ." 

'Simply  because?'  said  Gemma,  bending 
down,  picking  up  the  basket  and  placing  it  beside 
her  on  the  bench. 

"  That  ...  in  general  ...  to  dismiss  him 
would  not  be — wise,  on  your  part;  that  it  would 
be  a  step  all  of  whose  consequences  should  be 
well  weighed;  that,  in  conclusion,  the  condition 
of  your  affairs  imposes  certain  obligations  upon 
each  member  of  your  family.  .  .  ." 

"  All  that  is  mamma's  idea," — interposed 
Gemma;  "  those  are  her  words.  I  know  that;  but 
what  is  your  opinion  ?  " 

"Mine?"— Sanin  ceased.  He  felt  that  some- 
thing was  rising  in  his  throat,  and  stopping  his 
breath.—"  I  also  think," — he  began,  with  an 
effort.  ... 

Gemma  drew  herself  up. — "Also?  You — also?" 

"  Yes  ....  that  is  to  say  .  .  .  ."  Sanin  could 
not  positively  add  another  word. 

"  Very  well," — said  Gemma.     "  If  you,  as  a 

108 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

friend,  advise  me  to  alter  my  decision  .  .  .  that 
is,  not  to  alter  my  former  decision, — I  will  think 
about  it." — Without  herself  being  aware  of  what 
she  was  doing,  she  began  to  lay  the  cherries  back 
again  from  the  plate  into  the  basket.  .  .  . 
'  Mamma  hopes  that  I  will  obey  you.  .  .  .  What 
then?    Perhaps  I  really  shall  obey  you." 

'But,  pardon  me,  Fraulein  Gemma,  I  should 
first  like  to  know  what  causes  have  prompted 
you.  ..." 

"  I  shall  obey  you," — repeated  Gemma, — all 
around  her  brow  was  quivering,  her  cheeks  paled ; 
she  bit  her  lower  lip.  —  "  You  have  done  so  much 
for  me  that  I  am  bound  to  do  what  you  wish;  I 
am  bound  to  comply  with  your  wish.  I  will  tell 
mamma  .  .  .  that  I  will  think  it  over.  By  the 
way,  yonder  she  is,  coming  this  way." 

In  fact,  Frau  Lenore  made  her  appearance  on 
the  threshold  of  the  door  which  led  from  the  house 
into  the  garden.  She  was  torn  asunder  with  im- 
patience :  she  could  not  sit  still  in  one  place.  Ac- 
cording to  her  calculations,  Sanin  must  have  fin- 
ished his  explanation  with  Gemma  long  ago,  al- 
though his  conversation  with  her  had  not  lasted 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

'  No,  no,  no,  for  God's  sake,  tell  her  nothing 
for  the  present,"— ejaculated  Sanin,  hastily,  al- 
most in  terror.  —  "  Wait.  ...  I  will  tell  you,  I 
will  write  to  you  ....  and  until  then,  do  not 
decide  on  anything.  .  .  .  Wait!" 

109 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  pressed  Gemma's  hand,  sprang  up  from 
the  bench,— and  to  the  great  surprise  of  Frau 
Lenore,  darted  swiftly  past  her,  raising  his  hat  as 
he  did  so,  muttered  something  unintelligible — 
and  disappeared. 

She  approached  her  daughter. 

"  Tell  me,  please,  Gemma  .  .  .  ." 

The  latter  suddenly  rose  and  embraced  her. 
.  .  .  .  "  Dear  mamma,  can  you  wait  a  little,  just 
a  wee  little  bit  ...  .  until  to-morrow?  Can 
you?  So  that  there  shall  not  be  a  word  until 
to-morrow?  ....  Akh!" 

She  burst  into  sudden,  bright  tears,  unexpected 
even  by  herself.  This  astonished  Frau  Lenore 
all  the  more  because  the  expression  of  Gemma's 
face  was  far  from  sad,  joyful  rather. 

"What  ails  thee? "-she  asked.  "Thou  hast 
never  been  in  the  habit  of  weeping— and  all  of 
a  sudden.  .  .  ." 

"  Never  mind,  mamma,  never  mind!  only  wait. 
We  must  both  wait.  Ask  me  nothing  until  to- 
morrow—and let  me  sort  the  cherries,  before  the 
sun  sets." 

"But  thou  wilt  be  wise?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  wise!  "—Gemma  nodded  her 
head  significantly.  She  began  to  tie  the  cherries 
up  in  little  bunches,  holding  them  high  in  front 
of  her  blushing  face.  She  did  not  wipe  away  her 
tears;  they  dried  of  themselves. 


110 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXV 

Sanin  returned  to  his  lodgings  almost  at  a  run. 
He  felt,  he  was  conscious  that  only  there,  only 
alone  with  himself,  would  it  finally  become  clear 
to  him  what  ailed  him,  what  had  happened  to 
him.  And,  in  fact,  he  had  not  succeeded  in  en- 
tering his  room,  he  had  not  succeeded  in  seating 
himself  in  front  of  the  writing-table,  before  he 
exclaimed  in  a  mournful,  dull  voice,  as  he  leaned 
his  elbows  on  that  same  table,  and  pressed  his 
palms  to  his  face:  "I  love  her,  I  love  her 
madly!"— and  he  blushed  all  over  inwardly,  like 
a  coal  from  which  a  layer  of  dead  ashes  has  sud- 
denly been  blown  away.  Another  instant  .... 
and  he  was  no  longer  able  to  understand  how  he 
could  have  sat  beside  her  ....  her! — and  chatted 
with  her,  and  not  felt  that  he  worshipped  the  very 
hem  of  her  garment,  that  he  was  ready,  as  young 
men  express  it, — "  to  die  at  her  feet."  That  last 
meeting  in  the  garden  had  settled  everything. 
Now,  when  he  thought  of  her,  she  no  longer  pre- 
sented herself  to  him  with  dishevelled  curls,  by 
the  light  of  the  stars:— he  beheld  her  seated  on 
the  bench,  he  beheld  her  tossing  back  her  hat  with 
one  movement— and  gazing  at  him  so  trustingly 
....  and  the  tremor  and  thirst  of  love  coursed 
through  all  his  veins.  He  recalled  the  rose, 
which  he  had  been  carrying  for  the  last  three  days 

111 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  his  pocket:  he  pulled  it  out,  and  pressed  it  to 
his  lips  with  such  feverish  force  that  he  involun- 
tarily frowned  with  pain.  Now  he  no  longer  re- 
flected on  anything,  considered  anything,  calcu- 
lated or  foresaw  anything:  he  separated  himself 
from  all  the  past,  he  leaped  forward:  from  the 
melancholy  shore  of  his  solitary,  celibate  life  he 
plunged  headlong  into  that  cheerful,  seething, 
mighty  freshet — and  his  grief  was  small,  and  he 
did  not  care  to  know  whither  it  would  carry  him, 
and  whether  it  would  not  dash  him  to  pieces 
against  the  cliff !  These  were  no  longer  the  gen- 
tle currents  of  the  Uhland  romance,  which  had  so 
lately  lulled  him.  .  .  .  This  was  a  mighty,  irre- 
sistible billow!  It  flew,  and  galloped  onward,— 
and  he  flew  with  it.  .  .  . 

He  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  without  erasures, 
almost  with  one  sweep  of  the  pen,  he  wrote  the 
following : 

"  Dear  Gemma  !  You  know  what  advice  I  had  taken 
upon  myself  to  give  you,  you  know  what  your  mother 
wishes,  and  what  her  request  to  me  was, — but  what  you 
do  not  know,  and  what  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  now  is 
—  that  I  love  you,  love  you  with  all  the  passion  of  a 
heart  which  loves  for  the  first  time !  This  fire  has  flamed 
within  me  suddenly,  but  with  what  force,  I  cannot  find 
words  to  describe !  !  When  your  mother  came  to  me  and 
asked  me — it  was  only  smouldering  within  me — other- 
wise, as  an  honourable  man,  I  certainly  would  have  re- 
fused to  execute  her  commission.  .  .  .  The  very  avowal 

112 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

which  I  am  now  making  to  you  is  the  avowal  of  an 
honest  man.  You  must  know  with  whom  you  have  to  do, 
—  no  misunderstanding  must  exist  between  us.  You  see 
that  I  cannot  give  you  any  advice.  ...  I  love  you, 
love  you,  love  you — and  there  is  nothing  else  either  in 
my  mind  or  in  any  heart !  ! 

"  Dm.  Sanin." 

Having  folded  and  sealed  this  note,  Sanin  was 
on  the  point  of  ringing  for  the  waiter,  and  des- 
patching him  with  it.  .  .  "No!  that  is  awk- 
ward. .  .  .  By  Emile?  But  to  betake  myself 
to  the  shop,  and  seek  him  out,  from  among  the 
other  clerks,  is  awkward.  Moreover,  night  is  at 
hand,  and,  probably,  he  has  already  left  the  shop." 

But,  as  he  meditated  thus,  Sanin  put  on  his 
hat,  and  went  out  into  the  street;  he  turned  one 
corner,  then  another— and,  to  his  indescribable 
joy,  beheld  Emile  in  front  of  him.  With  a  bag 
under  his  arm,  and  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand, 
the  young  enthusiast  was  hurrying  homeward. 

"  Not  without  cause  do  they  say  that  every 
lover  has  his  star,"— thought  Sanin,  and  called  to 
Emile. 

The  latter  wheeled  round,  and  immediately 
rushed  to  him. 

Sanin  did  not  allow  him  to  go  into  raptures, 
handed  him  the  note,  explained  to  him  to  whom 
and  how  to  deliver  it.  .  .  .  Emile  listened  atten- 
tively. 

113 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  No  one  is  to  see  it?  "—he  asked,  imparting  to 
his  face  a  significant  and  mysterious  expression: 
— as  much  as  to  say,  "  we  understand  the  gist  of 
the  matter!" 

"Yes,  my  dear  friend,"— said  Sanin,  and  be- 
came  slightly  embarrassed;  but  he  tapped  Emile 
on  the  cheek,  nevertheless  .  .  .  .  "  and  if  there 
should  be  an  answer  .  .  .  you  will  bring  me  the 
answer,  will  you  not?    I  shall  remain  at  home." 

''Don't  you  worry  about  that!" — whispered 
Emile  merrily,  and  ran  off — and  as  he  ran,  he 
nodded  at  him  once  more. 

Sanin  returned  home — and,  without  lighting 
his  candles,  threw  himself  on  the  divan,  put  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  and  surrendered  himself 
to  those  sensations  of  love  which  had  just  been 
avowed,  that  cannot  be  described:  he  who  has 
experienced  them  knows  their  languor  and  sweet- 
ness: it  is  useless  to  talk  about  them  to  him  who 
has  not  experienced  them. 

The  door  opened — Emile's  head  appeared. 

"I  have  brought  it,"— he  whispered:— "here 
it  is,  the  answer ! " 

He  showed  a  folded  paper,  and  raised  it  above 
his  head. 

Sanin  sprang  from  the  divan,  and  snatched  it 
from  Emile's  hands.  Passion  had  flamed  up  too 
powerfully  within  him:  he  cared  nothing  now 
for  secrecy,  not  even  for  the  preservation  of  pro- 
priety—even before  that  young  lad,  her  brother. 

114 


i 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  would  have  felt  scruples  before  him,  he  would 
have  liked  to  put  constraint  on  himself — if  he 
could ! 

He  went  to  the  window — and,  by  the  light  of 
a  street  lantern,  which  stood  directly  in  front  of 
the  house,  he  read  the  following  lines: 

"  I  beg  you,  I  implore  you,  not  to  come  to  us  all  day 
to-morrow,  not  to  show  yourself.  This  is  necessary  for 
me,  imperatively  necessary, — and  then  all  will  be  set- 
tled.   I  know  you  will  not  refuse  me,  because  .... 

"  Gemma." 

Sanin  read  this  note  through  twice— oh,  how 
touchingly-charming  and  beautiful  did  her  hand- 
writing appear  to  him! — meditated  a  while,  and, 
turning  to  Emile,  who,  desirous  of  letting  it  be 
understood  what  a  discreet  young  man  he  was, 
was  standing  with  his  face  to  the  wall  and  drum- 
ming on  it  with  his  finger-nails,  called  him  loudly 
by  name. 

Emile  immediately  ran  to  Sanin. — "What  are 
your  orders?" 

"Listen,  my  dear  friend  .  .  .  .  " 

■  Monsieur  Dimitri," — Emile  interrupted  him, 
in  a  reproachful  voice: — "why  don't  you  call  me 
'thou'?" 

Sanin  broke  into  a  laugh.— "Well,  all  right. 
Listen,  my  dear  friend" — (Emile  skipped  with 
satisfaction) — "listen:  thou  art  to  say  yonder, 
thou  understandest  where,  that  everything  will 

115 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

be  punctually  executed"—  (Emile  compressed 
his  lips,  and  nodded  his  head  solemnly) — "and 
thyself  ....  What  art  thou  going  to  do  to- 
morrow?" 

"I?  What  am  I  going  to  do?  What  would 
you  like  to  have  me  do? " 

"If  thou  canst,  come  to  me  as  early  in  the 
morning  as  possible,— and  we  will  roam  about 
the  suburbs  of  Frankfurt  until  evening.  .  .  . 
Wilt  thou? " 

Again  Emile  gave  a  skip. — "Good  gracious, 
what  in  the  world  could  be  nicer!  Stroll  with 
you— why,  that  is  simply  splendid!  I'll  come, 
without  fail ! " 

"And  what  if  they  will  not  give  thee  leave?'1 

"They  will!" 

"  Hearken  .  .  .  Don't  tell  there  that  I  have 
invited  thee  for  the  whole  day." 

"Why  should  I  tell?  I'll  simply  walk  off! 
What  harm  is  there  in  that!"  Emile  kissed  Sa- 
nin  heartily,  and  ran  away. 

But  Sanin  paced  his  chamber  for  a  long  time 
—and  went  to  bed  late.  He  gave  himself  up  to 
the  same  delicate  and  sweet  sensations,  to  that 
same  joyful  swooning  in  the  presence  of  a  new 
life.  Sanin  was  greatly  pleased  that  he  had  hit 
upon  the  idea  of  inviting  Emile  for  the  morrow ; 
he  resembled  his  sister  in  countenance.  "  He  will 
remind  me  of  her,"  thought  Sanin. 

But  what  astonished  him  most  of  all  was :  how 

116 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  could  have  been  different  yesterday  from 
what  he  was  to-day.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  loved  Gemma  "  eternally  "—and  had  loved 
her  precisely  as  he  loved  her  to-day. 

XXVI 

On  the  following  day,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  Emile,  with  Tartaglia  in  a  leash,  pre- 
sented himself  before  Sanin.  Had  he  sprung  from 
German  parents,  he  could  not  have  displayed 
more  punctuality.  He  had  lied  at  home:  he  had 
said  that  he  was  going  to  walk  with  Sanin  until 
breakfast,  and  then  go  to  the  shop.  While  Sanin 
was  dressing,  Emile  tried  to  talk  to  him,  in  a 
rather  irresolute  way,  it  is  true,  about  Gemma, 
about  the  breaking  of  her  betrothal  with  Herr 
Kliiber;  but  Sanin  maintained  a  grim  silence  in 
response,  and  Emile,  showing  that  he  understood 
why  it  was  not  proper  to  touch  lightly  on  that 
important  point,  no  longer  addressed  him,— and 
merely  assumed,  from  time  to  time,  a  concen- 
trated and  even  stern  expression. 

After  drinking  coffee,  the  two  friends  set  out 
—on  foot,  of  course,— for  Hausen,  a  small  ham- 
let situated  a  short  distance  from  Frankfurt, 
and  surrounded  by  forests.  The  entire  chain  of 
the  Taunus  Mountains  is  visible  thence,  as 
though  in  the  palm  of  one's  hand.  The  weather 
was  magnificent:  the  sun  shone  and  blazed,  but 

117 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

did  not  burn;  a  fresh  breeze  rustled  briskly 
among  the  green  leaves;  over  the  ground,  in 
small  patches,  the  shadows  of  the  lofty,  circular 
clouds  glided  smoothly  and  swiftly.  The  young 
men  soon  emerged  from  the  town  and  stepped 
off  boldly  and  merrily  along  the  smoothly-swept 
road.  They  entered  the  forest — and  rambled 
there  for  quite  a  long  time;  they  ate  a  very 
hearty  breakfast  in  the  village  inn;  then  they 
climbed  the  hills,  admired  the  views,  rolled  stones 
down,  and  clapped  their  hands,  when  the  stones 
skipped  amusingly  and  oddly,  like  rabbits,  until 
a  man  who  was  passing  below,  and  was  invisible 
to  them,  berated  them  roundly,  in  a  powerful,  res- 
onant voice ;  then  they  lay  down,  stretching  them- 
selves out  on  the  short,  dry  moss,  of  a  yellowish- 
violet  hue:  they  drank  beer  in  another  hostelry, 
they  ran  races,  leaped  for  a  wager,  to  see  who 
would  jump  furthest.  They  discovered  an  echo, 
and  talked  with  it,  sang,  shouted  "  a-oo,"  broke 
twigs,  decorated  their  hats  with  fronds  of  fern — 
and  even  danced.  Tartaglia  participated  in  all 
these  occupations,  to  the  best  of  his  ability  and 
understanding:  he  could  not  throw  stones,  it  is 
true,  but  he  rolled  heels  over  head  himself,  and 
howled  an  accompaniment  when  the  young  men 
sang, — and  even  drank  beer,  although  with  evi- 
dent disgust :  a  student,  to  whom  he  had  once  be- 
longed, had  taught  him  that  trick.  However,  he 
obeyed  Emile  badly— it  was  quite  another  matter 

118 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

with  his  master  Pantaleone, — and  when  Emile 
ordered  him  to  "talk,"  or  "sneeze," — he  merely 
wagged  his  tail,  and  thrust  out  his  tongue  like  a 
cylinder. 

The  young  men  also  chatted  together.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  stroll,  Sanin,  as  being  the  older, 
and  therefore  the  most  sensible,  undertook  to  dis- 
cuss, what  is  Fate,  or  the  predestination  of  des- 
tiny, and  what  is  the  vocation  of  man,  and  its  sig- 
nificance, but  the  conversation  speedily  took  a  less 
serious  turn.  Emile  began  to  question  his  friend 
and  patron  about  Russia,  about  the  manner  of 
fighting  duels  there,  and  whether  the  women  are 
beautiful  there,  and  whether  one  could  learn  the 
Russian  language  in  a  short  time,  and  how  he 
had  felt  when  the  officer  had  taken  aim  at  him. 
And  Sanin,  in  his  turn,  interrogated  Emile  about 
his  father,  his  mother,  their  family  affairs  in  gen- 
eral, striving  in  every  way  not  to  mention  Gem- 
ma's name,— and  thinking  only  of  her.  Prop- 
erly speaking,  he  did  not  even  think  of  her— but 
of  the  morrow,  of  that  mysterious  to-morrow, 
which  was  to  bring  him  unknown,  unprecedented 
happiness!  There  seemed  to  be  a  curtain,  a  thin, 
light  curtain,  hanging  in  front  of  his  mental  vis- 
ion, swaying  gently, — and  behind  that  curtain  he 
felt  ...  he  felt  the  presence  of  a  young,  im- 
movable, divine  face,  with  an  affectionate  smile 
on  its  lips,  and  eyelashes  downcast  with  sternness, 
feigned  sternness.     And  that  face  was  not  the 

119 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

face  of  Gemma — it  was  the  face  of  bliss  itself! 
And  lo,  at  last,  his  hour  has  come,  the  curtain  has 
rolled  away,  the  mouth  opens,  the  eyelashes  are 
raised— the  divinity  has  seen  him— and  then  there 
is  light,  as  of  the  sun,  and  joy,  and  rapture  un- 
ending! He  thinks  of  that  morrow— and  again 
his  soul  swoons  within  him  for  joy,  in  the  yearn- 
ing of  incessantly-augmenting  anticipation! 

And  nothing  interferes  with  this  anticipation, 
this  yearning.  It  accompanies  his  every  move- 
ment—and hinders  not  in  the  least.  It  does  not 
prevent  his  making  a  capital  dinner  in  a  third 
hostelry  with  Emile.  And  only  from  time  to 
time,  like  a  brief  gleam  of  lightning,  does  the 
thought  flash  up  within  him,— what  if  any  one 
in  the  world  knew  about  it?  This  yearning 
does  not  prevent  his  playing  at  leap-frog  with 
£mile,  after  dinner.  This  game  takes  place  on 
a  luxuriant  green  meadow  ....  and  what  is 
Sanin's  surprise,  what  is  his  amazement,  when, 
with  his  legs  cleverly  spread,  and  in  the  act  of 
flying  like  a  bird  over  the  squatting  Emile,  to  the 
loud  barking  of  Tartaglia,— he  suddenly  sees  be- 
fore him,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  green  glade,— 
two  officers,  in  whom  he  immediately  recognises 
his  antagonist  of  the  day  before,  and  his  second, 
Messrs.  von  Donhof  and  Richter !  Each  of  them 
sticks  a  monocle  in  his  eye,  and  stares  at  him,  and 
grins.  .  .  .  Sanin  lands  on  his  feet,  turns  away, 

120 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

hastily  dons  his  discarded  coat,  utters  an  abrupt 
word  to  Emile,  the  latter  also  puts  on  his  jacket 
— and  both  immediately  decamp. 

They  returned  late  to  Frankfurt.—"  I  shall  be 
scolded,"— said  Emile  to  Sanin,  as  he  bade  him 
farewell:— "well,  I  don't  care!  But  I  have  had 
such  a  splendid,  splendid  day! " 

On  reaching  his  quarters  in  the  hotel,  Sanin 
found  a  note  from  Gemma.  She  appointed  him 
a  tryst— on  the  following  day,  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  in  one  of  the  public  parks  which 
surround  Frankfurt  on  all  sides. 

How  his  heart  quivered!  How  glad  he  was 
that  he  had  obeyed  her  so  implicitly !  And,  great 
heavens,  what  ....  what  all  did  not  that  un- 
precedented, unique,  impossible  and  indubitable 
morrow  promise ! 

He  riveted  his  eyes  upon  Gemma's  letter.  The 
long,  elegant  tail  of  the  letter  G,  the  first  letter 
of  her  name,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  the  sheet, 
— recalled  to  his  mind  her  beautiful  fingers,  her 
hand.  .  .  .  He  thought  that  he  had  never 
touched  that  hand  with  his  lips.  ..."  Italian 
women," — he  thought, — "are  bashful  and  strict, 
contrary  to  their  reputation.  .  .  .  And  Gemma 
is  far  more  so!  Empress  ....  goddess  .... 
pure,  virgin  marble.  .  .  .  But  the  time  will  come 
— and  'tis  not  far  off  .  .  .  .  " 

There  was  one  happy  mortal  in  Frankfurt  that 

121 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

night  .  .  .  He  slept ;  but  he  could  say  of  himself, 
in  the  words  of  the  poet: 

"I  sleep  .  .  .  but  my  sensitive  heart  sleeps  not.  ..." 

And  it  beat  as  lightly  as  beat  the  wings  of  a 
butterfly,  perched  upon  a  flower,  and  steeped  in 
the  summer  sunshine. 


XXVII 

At  five  o'clock  Sanin  awoke,  at  six  he  was  al- 
ready dressed,  at  half -past  six  he  was  strolling 
through  the  public  park,  in  sight  of  the  little 
arbour  which  Gemma  had  mentioned  in  her  note. 

The  morning  was  still,  warm,  grey.  It  some- 
times seemed  as  though  the  rain  were  on  the  very 
point  of  descending:  but  the  outstretched  hand 
felt  nothing,  and  it  was  only  when  one  glanced 
at  the  sleeve  of  his  garment  that  little  traces  of 
raindrops,  like  the  tiniest  pearls,  could  be  de- 
tected; but  even  these  speedily  ceased.  As  for 
the  wind — it  was  as  though  no  such  thing  existed 
on  earth.  Every  sound,  instead  of  flying,  dif- 
fused itself  around:  in  the  distance,  the  whitish 
mist  grew  slightly  more  dense;  the  air  was  laden 
with  the  fragrance  of  mignonette  and  the  flowers 
of  the  white  acacia. 

The  shops  were  not  yet  open  on  the  streets, 
but  pedestrians  were  already  beginning  to  make 

122 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

their  appearance;  now  and  then  a  solitary  car- 
riage rumbled  past  ....  no  one  was  strolling 
in  the  park.  A  gardener  was  scraping  the  path 
with  a  spade,  in  a  leisurely  manner,  and  a  de- 
crepit old  woman  in  a  black  cloth  cloak  was  hob- 
bling along  an  alley.  Not  for  a  single  instant 
could  Sanin  take  that  wretched  being  for  Gem- 
ma,— and  yet,  his  heart  gave  a  bound  within  him, 
and  he  followed  the  retreating  black  spot  atten- 
tively with  his  eyes. 

Seven !  boomed  out  the  clock  on  a  tower. 

Sanin  came  to  a  halt.— Was  it  possible  that 
she  would  not  come?  A  cold  shiver  suddenly 
coursed  through  all  his  limbs.  That  same  shiver 
was  repeated  a  moment  later, — but  for  another 
reason.  Sanin  heard  behind  him  light  footsteps, 
the  faint  rustle  of  a  woman's  gown.  .  .  He 
turned  round :  't  was  she ! 

Gemma  was  walking  behind  him,  along  the 
path.  She  wore  a  greyish  mantilla  and  a  small, 
dark  hat.  She  glanced  at  Sanin,  turned  her  head 
aside — and,  as  she  came  on  a  level  with  him, 
walked  swiftly  past. 

"Gemma!"  he  said,  in  a  barely-audible  voice. 

She  gave  him  a  slight  nod— and  continued  to 
walk  on.    He  followed  her. 

He  was  breathing  brokenly.  His  legs  obeyed 
him  badly. 

Gemma  passed  the  arbour,  turned  to  the  right, 
passed  a  small,  flattish  basin,  wherein  sparrows 

123 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

were  restlessly  splashing — and,  entering  a  clump 
of  lofty  lilacs,  sank  down  on  a  bench.  The  spot 
was  comfortable  and  sheltered.  Sanin  seated 
himself  by  her  side. 

A  minute  passed — and  neither  he  nor  she 
had  uttered  a  word :  she  did  not  even  look  at  him 
— and  he  gazed  not  at  her  face,  but  at  her  clasped 
hands,  in  which  she  held  a  small  parasol.  What 
was  there  to  say?  What  was  there  to  say,  that, 
by  its  significance,  could  compare  with  their  mere 
presence  here,  together,  alone,  so  early,  so  close 
to  each  other? 

"You  ....  are  not  angry  with  me?" — articu- 
lated Sanin  at  last. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  Sanin  to  say 
anything  more  stupid  than  these  words  ....  he 
realised  that  himself.  .  .  .  But,  at  all  events,  the 
silence  was  broken. 

"I? "-she  replied.    "What  for?    No." 

"  And  you  believe  me? " — he  went  on. 

"  What  you  wrote? " 

"  Yes." 

Gemma  dropped  her  head,  and  said  no- 
thing. The  parasol  slipped  from  her  hands. 
She  hastily  picked  it  up,  before  it  fell  on  the 
path. 

"Akh,  believe  me,  believe  what  I  wrote  to 
you,"— exclaimed  Sanin;  all  his  timidity  had 
suddenly  vanished— he  spoke  with  ardour:— "if 
there  is  any  truth  on  earth,  sacred,  indubitable 

124 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

truth,— then  it  is  that  I  love  you,  love  you  pas- 
sionately, Gemma!" 

She  cast  a  sidelong,  momentary  glance  at  him 
—and  again  came  near  dropping  her  parasol. 

"  Believe  me,  believe  me," — he  reiterated.  He 
implored  her,  stretched  out  his  hands  to  her— and 
dared  not  touch  her.  "  What  did  you  wish  to 
have  me  do,  to  convince  you? " 

Again  she  darted  a  glance  at  him. 

"Tell  me,  Monsieur  Dimitri,"— she  began:  — 
"  day  before  yesterday,  when  you  came  to  per- 
suade me,— you,  of  course,  did  not  yet  know  .... 
did  not  feel  .  .  .  .  " 

"I  did  feel,"— interpolated  Sanin,— "but  I 
did  not  know.  I  fell  in  love  with  you  the  very 
moment  I  beheld  you,— but  did  not  immediately 
understand  what  you  had  become  for  me !  More- 
over, I  heard  that  you  were  a  betrothed  bride. 
.  .  .  As  for  your  mother's  commission — in  the 
first  place,  how  could  I  refuse?  and,  in  the  second 
place, — I  think  I  transmitted  my  message  to  you 
in  such  a  way  that  you  might  have  guessed. 

Heavy  footsteps  became  audible,  and  a  de- 
cidedly corpulent  gentleman,  with  a  travelling- 
bag  slung  across  his  shoulder,  a  foreigner,  evi- 
dently, stepped  forth  from  behind  the  clump  of 
lilacs — and  with  the  unceremoniousness  of  a 
chance  traveller,  surveyed  with  his  glance  the 
young  pair  who  were  sitting  on  the  bench, 
coughed  loudly — and  went  his  way. 

125 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Your  mother," — began  Sanin,  as  soon  as  the 
clumping  of  the  heavy  feet  had  died  away, — 
"  told  me  that  your  refusal  would  produce  a 
scandal"  (Gemma  frowned  slightly);  'that  I, 
myself,  had,  in  part,  given  rise  to  unfavourable 
comments,  and  that,  consequently  ....  conse- 
quently .  .  .  upon  me — in  a  certain  degree — de- 
volved the  obligation  of  telling  you  not  to  dismiss 
your  betrothed,  Herr  Kliiber.  ..." 

"Monsieur  Dimitri,"  said  Gemma,  passing 
her  hand  over  her  hair,  on  the  side  turned  to 
Sanin:— "  please  do  not  call  Herr  Kliiber  my 
betrothed.  I  shall  never  be  his  bride.  I  have  dis- 
missed him." 

"  You  have  dismissed  him?    When? " 

"  Yesterday." 

"In  person?" 

"  Yes.    At  our  house.    He  came  to  us." 

"  Gemma!    That  means  that  you  love  me? " 

She  turned  toward  him. 

"  Had  it  been  otherwise  ....  would  I  have 
come  hither? "  she  whispered— and  both  her 
hands  fell  upon  the  bench. 

Sanin  seized  those  hands,  which  lay  helplessly, 
with  the  palms  upturned,  in  his  own, — pressed 
them  to  his  eyes,  to  his  lips.  .  .  .  Then  the  veil 
which  had  appeared  before  him  in  his  vision  of 
the  day  before  was  lifted!  Here  it  was,  happi- 
ness, here  was  its  radiant  face! 

He  raised  his  head— and  looked  at  Gemma — 

126 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

straightly  and  boldly.  She  also  looked  at  him— 
somewhat  downward,  from  above.  The  gaze  of 
her  half -opened  eyes  glimmered  dimly,  bathed  in 
light,  blissful  tears.  But  her  face  was  not  smiling 
....  no !  it  laughed,  also  with  a  blissful  though 
noiseless  laugh. 

He  tried  to  draw  her  to  his  breast,  but  she  re- 
sisted, and  without  ceasing  to  laugh  with  the  same 
noiseless  laugh,  she  shook  her  head  in  negation. 
1  Wait,"  her  happy  eyes  seemed  to  say. 

"Oh,  Gemma!"— cried  Sanin:  "could  I  have 
dreamed  that  thou—"  (his  heart  trembled  within 
him,  when  his  lips  uttered,  for  the  first  time,  this 
"  thou  ")  — "  that  thou  wouldst  love  me? " 

'  I  did  not  expect  it  myself,"— said  Gemma 
softly. 

'  Could  I  imagine,"— pursued  Sanin,—"  could 
I  imagine,  when  approaching  Frankfurt,  where 
I  intended  to  remain  only  a  few  hours,  that  I 
would  find  here  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life? " 

"Of  your  whole  life?  Really?"  —  asked 
Gemma. 

'Of  my  whole  life,  forever  and  forever!"— 
exclaimed  Sanin  with  fresh  impetuosity. 

The  gardener's  shovel  suddenly  began  to 
scrape  a  couple  of  paces  from  the  bench  on  which 
they  were  sitting. 

"Let  us  go  home"— whispered  Gemma.— 
"  Let  us  go  together — wilt  thou?" 

If   she   had   said   to   him,    at   that    moment: 

127 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Fling  thyself  into  the  sea— wilt  thou?"— he 
would  have  flown  headlong  into  the  gulf,  before 
she  had  uttered  the  last  word. 

Together  they  left  the  park,  and  wended  their 
way  homeward,  not  through  the  city  streets,  but 
by  way  of  the  suburbs. 

XXVIII 

Sanin  walked  on,  now  by  Gemma's  side,  now  a 
little  behind  her,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  her, 
and  never  ceasing  to  smile.  And  she  seemed  to 
be  hurrying  onward  ....  yet  appeared  also  to 
be  pausing.  To  tell  the  truth,  both  of  them — he 
all  pale,  she  all  rosy  with  emotion,— moved  for- 
ward like  persons  befogged.  That  which  they 
had  done  together  a  few  moments  before — that 
surrender  of  each  soul  to  the  other,— was  so 
mighty  and  so  new  and  dread  a  thing ;  everything 
in  their  lives  had  so  suddenly  come  to  a  standstill, 
had  undergone  a  change,  that  they  could  not  re- 
cover themselves,  and  were  merely  conscious  of 
the  whirlwind  which  had  caught  them  up  in  its 
grasp,  like  that  nocturnal  whirlwind  which  had 
almost  hurled  them  into  each  other's  embrace. 
Sanin  walked  along — and  felt  that  he  was  even 
regarding  Gemma  in  a  different  light:  every  mo- 
ment he  descried  several  peculiarities  in  her  walk, 
in  her  movements,— and,  great  heavens!  how 
inimitably  dear  and  charming  they  were  to  him! 

1?H 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

And  she  was  conscious  that  he  was  gazing  at  her 
thus. 

Sanin  and  she  loved  for  the  first  time,  all  the 
marvels  of  first  love  were  accomplished  in  them. 
First  love  is— a  revolution:  the  monotonously- 
regular  course  of  life  which  has  established  itself 
is  broken  and  shattered  in  one  instant,  and  youth 
stands  at  the  barricade,  its  flaunting  standard 
waves  high  in  air, — and  whatever  may  be  in  store 
for  it  ahead — death  or  new  life — it  wafts  to  all 
its  rapturous  greeting. 

'  What  is  this?  Can  it  be  our  old  man?  "—said 
Sanin,  pointing  at  a  muffled  figure,  which  was 
making  its  way  hurriedly  along  on  one  side,  as 
though  endeavouring  to  remain  unperceived.  In 
the  midst  of  his  superabundance  of  bliss,  he  felt 
impelled  to  talk  to  Gemma— not  about  love— that 
was  a  settled,  a  sacred  thing, — but  about  some- 
thing or  other  different. 

'  Yes,  that  is  Pantaleone," — replied  Gemma 
merrily  and  happily.  "  He  certainly  must  have 
followed  on  my  heels  out  of  the  house;  all  day 
yesterday,  he  watched  every  step  I  took.  .  .  .  He 
guesses  the  truth ! " 

1  He  guesses  the  truth! "—repeated  Sanin  rap- 
turously.— What  could  Gemma  say  over  which 
he  would  not  go  into  raptures! 

Then  he  begged  her  to  narrate  to  him,  in  detail, 
everything  which  had  taken  place  on  the  preced- 
ing day. 

129 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

And  she  immediately  began  to  relate,  hurry- 
ing, entangling  herself,  smiling,  heaving  little 
sighs,  and  exchanging  brief,  brilliant  glances 
with  Sanin.  She  told  him  how,  after  the  con- 
versation of  two  days  previously,  her  mamma  had 
persistently  endeavoured  to  get  out  of  her, 
Gemma,  something  definite :  how  she  had  rid  her- 
self of  Frau  Lenore,  by  promising  to  inform  her 
of  her  decision  within  twenty-four  hours ;  how  she 
had  secured  that  much  time — and  how  diffi- 
cult it  had  been:  how  Herr  Kluber  had  made 
his  appearance  quite  unexpectedly,  more  con- 
ceited and  starched  than  ever:  how  he  had  ex- 
pressed his  displeasure  at  the  boyishly-unpar- 
donable, and  for  him,  Kluber,  deeply-insulting 
(that  was  his  precise  expression)  sally  of  the 
Russian  stranger — "he  meant  thy  duel"" — and 
how  he  had  demanded  that  thou  shouldst  im- 
mediately be  forbidden  the  house.  "  Because," — 
he  added— and  here  Gemma  lightly  imitated  his 
voice  and  manner, — "it  casts  a  shadow  on  my 
honour :  as  though  I  could  not  have  protected  my 
betrothed,  had  I  regarded  that  as  either  indis- 
pensable or  useful!  All  Frankfurt  will  learn 
to-morrow  that  a  stranger  has  fought  with  an 
officer  on  account  of  my  betrothed— who  ever 
heard  of  such  a  thing?  It  sullies  my  honour!" 
'Mamma  agreed  with  him — just  imagine! — but 
at  this  point  I  suddenly  informed  him  that  there 
was  no  need  for  his  worrying  about  his  honour  and 

130 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

his  person,  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  feel  in- 
sulted by  gossip  about  his  betrothed,  because  I 
was  no  longer  his  betrothed,  and  would  never  be 
his  wife!  I  must  confess  that  I  would  have 
liked  first  to  have  a  talk  with  you  ....  with 
thee,  before  definitively  dismissing  him;  but  he 
came  .  .  .  and  I  could  not  restrain  myself. 
Mamma  even  shrieked  with  fright,  and  I  went 
into  the  other  room  and  brought  him  his  ring — 
thou  didst  not  notice,  I  had  already  taken  off  that 
ring  two  days  ago — and  gave  it  to  him.  He  was 
frightfully  offended ;  but  as  he  is  frightfully  ego- 
tistical and  conceited,  he  did  not  say  much  and 
took  himself  off.  Of  course,  I  had  to  endure  a 
great  deal  from  mamma,  and  it  pained  me  greatly 
to  see  how  grieved  she  was — and  I  thought  that 
I  had  been  in  a  little  too  much  of  a  hurry,  but, 
you  see,  I  had  thy  note— and  even  without  that, 
I  already  knew  .  .  .  . 

"That  I  loved  thee,"— put  in  Sanin. 

"  Yes  ....  that  thou  lovedst  me," 

Thus  spoke  Gemma,  faltering  and  smiling, 
and  lowering  her  head,  or  relapsing  altogether 
into  silence,  every  time  that  any  one  came  toward 
her,  or  passed  her.  And  Sanin  listened  ecstati- 
cally, enjoying  the  very  sound  of  her  voice,  as,  on 
the  day  before,  he  had  admired  her  handwriting. 

"  Mamma  is  extremely  grieved,"  —  began 
Gemma  again — and  her  words  followed  one  an- 
other very,  very  swiftly: — "she  absolutely  re- 
lax 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

fuses  to  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that 
Herr  Kliiber  might  be  repulsive  to  me,  that  I  was 
not  marrying  him  for  love — but  in  consequence 
of  her  earnest  entreaties.  .  .  .  She  suspects  you 
....  thee ;  that  is  to  say,  to  speak  in  plain  terms, 
she  is  convinced  that  I  have  fallen  in  love  with 
thee, — and  this  is  all  the  more  painful  to  her,  that 
such  a  thing  had  never  even  entered  her  head  day 
before  yesterday,  and  she  even  commissioned  thee 
to  reason  with  me.  .  .  .  And  a  strange  commis- 
sion it  was — wasn't  it?  Now  she  calls  thee  .  .  .  . 
you,  a  sly  dog,  a  crafty  man,  says  that  you  have 
betrayed  her  trust,  and  predicts  that  you  will  de- 
ceive me  also  .  .  .  .  " 

"But,  Gemma,"— exclaimed  Sanin,— "didst 
not  thou  tell  her.  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  told  her  nothing!  What  right  had  I, 
without  having  talked  with  you?" 

Sanin  clasped  his  hands. — "Gemma,  I  hope 
that  now,  at  least,  thou  wilt  confess  all  to  her, 
thou  wilt  take  me  to  her.  ...  I  want  to  prove  to 
thy  mother  that  I  am  not  a  deceiver! " 

Sanin's  breast  fairly  heaved  with  a  flood  of 
magnanimous  and  fervent  emotions. 

Gemma  stared  at  him  with  all  her  eyes.—"  Do 
you  really  want  to  go  to  mamma  now,  with  me? 
to  mamma,  who  asserts  that  .  .  .  that  every- 
thing is  impossible  between  us,— and  nothing  will 
ever  come  of  it?" — There  was  one  word  which 
Gemma  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  utter.  .  . 

132 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

It  burned  her  lips;  but  Sanin  uttered  it  all  the 
more  willingly. 

'  I  know  no  higher  felicity,  Gemma,  than  to 
marry  thee,  to  be  thy  husband!" 

He  no  longer  recognised  any  bounds  to  his 
love,  to  his  magnanimity,  nor  to  his  firmness. 

On  hearing  these  words,  Gemma,  who  had 
halted  for  a  moment,  proceeded  onward  more 
rapidly  than  ever.  .  .  .  She  seemed  to  wish  to 
flee  from  that  too-great  and  unexpected  happi- 
ness ! 

But  all  at  once  her  limbs  gave  way  beneath 
her.  From  round  the  corner  of  a  lane,  a  few 
paces  distant  from  her,  in  a  new  hat  and  new 
short-coat,  straight  as  an  arrow,  curled  like  a 
poodle,  Herr  Kliiber  made  his  appearance.  He 
caught  sight  of  Gemma,  caught  sight  of  Sanin — 
gave  a  sort  of  internal  snort,  and  throwing  back 
his  supple  figure,  he  advanced  foppishly  to  meet 
them.  Sanin  writhed,  but  on  glancing  at  Klu- 
ber's  face,  to  which  its  owner  was  endeavouring, 
to  the  best  of  his  ability,  to  impart  an  expression 
of  scornful  surprise,  and  even  compassion,— on 
glancing  at  that  ruddy,  commonplace  face,  he 
suddenly  felt  a  flood  of  wrath — and  strode  for- 
ward. 

Gemma  grasped  his  arm,  and  with  calm  deci- 
sion giving  him  hers,  gazed  straight  into  the  face 
of  her  former  betrothed.  .  .  .  The  latter  screwed 
up  his  eyes,  shrank  together,  turned  to  one  side, 

133 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

^and,  muttering  between  his  teeth:  "The  usual 
ending  of  the  song!"— ("Das  alte  Ende  vom 
Liede!") — retreated,  with  the  same  dandified, 
slightly  springy  gait  as  usual. 

'  What  was  that  he  said,  the  rascal!  "—inquired 
Sanin,  and  tried  to  rush  after  Kluber;  but 
Gemma  held  him  back,  and  walked  on  with  him, 
still  without  withdrawing  her  arm,  which  was 
thrust  through  his. 

The  Roselli  confectionery  shop  appeared 
ahead.     Once  more  Gemma  halted. 

"Dimitri,  Monsieur  Dimitri," — said  she:  "we 
have  not  yet  entered  yonder  house,  we  have  not 
yet  seen  mamma.  ...  If  you  still  wish  to  re- 
flect, if  .  .  .  you  are  still  free,  Dimitri!" 

In  reply,  Sanin  pressed  her  arm  very,  very 
firmly  to  his  breast— and  led  her  forward. 

"Mamma," — said  Gemma,  entering  with  Sa- 
nin the  room  where  sat  Frau  Lenore, — "  I  have 
brought  the  real  one ! " 


XXIX 


Had  Gemma  announced  that  she  had  brought 
the  cholera,  or  even  death  itself  with  her,  Frau 
Lenore  could  not,  we  are  free  to  assume,  have  re- 
ceived the  news  with  any  greater  despair.  She 
immediately  seated  herself  in  a  corner,  with  her 
face  to  the  wall,— and  burst  into  tears,  almost 
wailed,   precisely  as   a  Russian  peasant-woman 

134 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

does  over  the  coffin  of  her  husband  or  her  son.  At 
first,  Gemma  was  so  disconcerted  that  she  did  not 
even  approach  her  mother— and  stood  like  a 
statue,  in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  and  Sanin  was 
thrown  into  utter  confusion, — almost  to  the  point 
of  launching  into  tears  himself!  This  inconsol- 
able weeping  lasted  for  a  whole  hour:  a  whole 
hour!  Pantaleone  deemed  it  best  to  lock  the 
outer  door  of  the  shop,  in  order  that  no  stranger 
might  enter— although  the  hour  was  early.  The 
old  man  was  puzzled — and,  at  any  rate,  did  not 
approve  of  the  haste  with  which  Gemma  and 
Sanin  had  acted ;  however,  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  to  condemn  them,  and  was  ready  to  ac- 
cord them  his  protection — in  case  of  need;  he  had 
greatly  disliked  Herr  Kliiber!  Emile  regarded 
himself  as  the  intermediary  between  his  friend 
and  his  sister — and  was  almost  proud  that  every- 
thing had  turned  out  so  splendidly !  He  was  not 
in  the  least  able  to  understand  why  Frau  Lenore 
was  grieving  so  violently,  and  in  his  heart  he  de- 
cided on  the  spot  that  women,  even  the  best  of 
them,  suffer  from  a  deficiency  of  intellectual  ca- 
pacity! Sanin  fared  worse  than  all  the  rest. 
Frau  Lenore  raised  a  howl,  and  flourished  her 
arms  violently,  as  soon  as  he  came  near  her — and 
in  vain  did  he  strive,  as  he  stood  at  a  distance,  to 
exclaim  loudly,  several  times:  "I  ask  your 
daughter's  hand ! "  Frau  Lenore  was  especially 
vexed  at  herself,  because:  "how  could  she  have 

135 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

been  so  blind — and  seen  nothing!" — "If  my 
Giovan'  Battista  had  been  alive," — she  kept  re- 
peating through  her  tears, — "  nothing  of  this  sort 
would  have  happened!" — "O  Lord,  what  is 
this?" — thought  Sanin — "why,  this  is  stupid,  I 
must  say! "  He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Gemma, 
neither  could  she  bring  herself  to  raise  her  eyes 
to  his.  She  contented  herself  with  patiently  tend- 
ing her  mother,  who  at  first  repulsed  her.  .  .  . 

At  last,  little  by  little,  the  storm  subsided. 
Frau  Lenore  ceased  to  weep,  permitted  Gemma 
to  lead  her  out  of  the  corner,  in  which  she  had  en- 
sconced herself,  seat  her  in  an  arm-chair  near  the 
window,  and  give  her  some  water  with  orange- 
flower  essence  to  drink;  she  permitted  Sanin — 
not  to  approach  .  .  .  oh,  no! — but,  at  least,  to 
remain  in  the  room — (she  had  previously  de- 
manded incessantly  that  he  should  withdraw)  — 
and  did  not  interrupt  him  while  he  was  talking. 
Sanin  immediately  availed  himself  of  the  calm 
which  had  set  in, — and  displayed  amazing  elo- 
quence: he  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  set 
forth  his  intentions  and  his  sentiments  to  Gemma 
herself  with  as  much  ardour  and  persuasive- 
ness. Those  sentiments  were  of  the  most  sin- 
cere description,  those  intentions  were  of  the  pur- 
est, as  in  the  case  of  Almaviva  in  "  The  Barber 
of  Seville." — He  did  not  conceal,  either  from 
Frau  Lenore  or  from  himself,  the  disadvanta- 
geous aspects  of  those  intentions;  but  the  disad- 

136 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

vantages  were  only  apparent!  It  is  true  that  he 
was  a  foreigner,  that  they  had  made  his  acquaint- 
ance only  a  short  time  before,  that  they  knew  no- 
thing definite  about  his  personality,  or  about  his 
means ;  but  he  was  ready  to  present  all  the  neces- 
sary credentials  to  prove  that  he  was  a  man  of 
good  standing,  and  not  a  poor  one;  he  would 
send  for  the  most  indubitable  testimonials  of  his 
fellow-countrymen!— He  hoped  that  Gemma 
would  be  happy  with  him,  and  that  he  would  be 
able  to  sweeten  her  separation  from  her  relatives ! 
.  .  .  At  the  mention  of  separation — that  one 
word  "  separation "  came  near  spoiling  the 
whole  business.  .  .  .  Frau  Lenore  trembled  all 
over,  and  began  to  throw  herself  about.  .  .  .  Sa- 
nin  hastened  to  remark  that  the  separation  would 
be  only  temporary — and  that,  after  all,  possibly — 
there  would  be  none  at  all ! 

Sanin's  eloquence  was  not  wasted.  Frau  Le- 
nore began  to  glance  at  him,  although  still  with 
bitterness  and  reproach,  yet  no  longer  with  her 
former  repulsion  and  wrath;  then  she  permitted 
him  to  approach,  and  even  to  sit  down  beside  her 
(Gemma  was  sitting  on  her  other  side)  ;  then  she 
began  to  upbraid  him — not  with  looks  alone,  but 
with  words,  which  denoted  a  certain  softening  of 
her  heart:  she  began  to  complain,  and  her  com- 
plaints grew  ever  more  quiet  and  gentle;  they 
alternated  with  questions,  addressed  sometimes 
to  her  daughter,  sometimes  to  Sanin;  then  she 

137 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

allowed  him  to  take  her  hand,  and  did  not  imme- 
diately withdraw  it  .  .  .  then  she  fell  to  weeping 
again — but  with  tears  of  an  entirely  different 
sort.  .  .  .  Then  she  smiled  sadly,  and  mourned 
the  absence  of  Giovan'  Battista,  but  in  another 
sense  than  previously.  .  .  .  Another  moment 
elapsed — and  the  two  culprits — Sanin  and 
Gemma — were  already  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and 
she  was  laying  her  hands  on  their  heads  by  turns ; 
yet  another  moment  elapsed — and  they  were  em- 
bracing and  kissing  her,  and  Emile,  his  face 
beaming  with  rapture,  ran  into  the  room,  and  also 
flung  himself  upon  the  closely-united  group. 

Pantaleone  looked  into  the  room,  grinned  and 
frowned  simultaneously, — and,  wending  his  way 
to  the  shop,  opened  the  outer  door. 

XXX 

The  transition  from  despair  to  sadness,  and 
from  that  to  "  quiet  resignation,"  was  accom- 
plished with  considerable  rapidity  in  Frau  Le- 
nore;— but  that  quiet  resignation,  in  its  turn, 
was  promptly  converted  into  secret  satisfaction, 
which,  nevertheless,  was  in  every  way  concealed 
and  repressed,  for  the  sake  of  propriety.  Frau 
Lenore  had  liked  Sanin  from  the  very  first  day 
of  their  acquaintance ;  having  accustomed  herself 
to  the  idea  of  his  being  her  son-in-law,  she  found 
nothing  especially  disagreeable  in  it,  although 

138 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

she  considered  it  her  duty  to  preserve  on  her  coun- 
tenance a  somewhat  offended  ....  or,  rather, 
worried  expression.  Moreover,  everything  which 
had  happened  during  the  last  few  days  had  been 
so  remarkable.  .  .  .  One  thing  after  another! 
As  a  practical  woman,  and  a  mother,  Frau  Le- 
nore  thought  it  her  duty  to  subject  Sanin  to  a 
varied  interrogatory:  and  Sanin,  who,  on  setting 
out  in  the  morning  for  his  tryst  with  Gemma,  had 
not  had  the  remotest  idea  of  marrying  her,— in 
truth,  he  had  thought  of  nothing  at  the  time,  and 
had  merely  surrendered  himself  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  passion — Sanin,  with  entire  readiness, 
and  even,  one  might  say,  with  zeal,  entered  into 
his  role  of  a  betrothed  bridegroom,  and  to  all  the 
questions  replied  circumstantially,  in  detail,  will- 
ingly. Having  convinced  herself  that  he  was  a 
genuine,  born  noble,  and  even  rather  surprised 
that  he  was  not  a  prince,  Frau  Lenore  assumed 
a  serious  mien  and  "  warned  him  beforehand 
that  she  meant  to  be  quite  unceremoniously 
frank  with  him,  because  she  was  compelled 
thereto  by  her  sacred  obligations  as  a  mother! " — 
to  which  Sanin  replied  that  he  had  expected  no- 
thing else  from  her,  and  himself  earnestly  im- 
plored her  not  to  spare  him! 

Then  Frau  Lenore  remarked  that  Herr  Klii- 
ber  (as  she  uttered  that  name,  she  sighed  a  little, 
compressed  her  lips,  and  stammered) — Herr 
Kliiber,  Gemma's  former  betrothed,  already  was 

139 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  receipt  of  an  income  of  eight  thousand  gul- 
dens—and that,  with  every  year,  that  sum  would 
increase — and  what  was  his,  Sanin's  income? 

"Eight  thousand  guldens," — repeated  Sanin, 
in  a  drawl.  ..."  That  makes,  in  our  money, 
about  fifteen  thousand  rubles.  .  .  .  My  income 
is  much  less.  I  have  a  small  estate  in  the  govern- 
ment of  Tula.  ...  If  the  farming  is  well  man- 
aged, it  may  yield — and  even  ought,  without  fail, 
to  yield,  five  or  six  thousand.  .  .  .  Yes,  and  if  I 
enter  the  service — I  may  easily  receive  a  salary 
of  two  thousand  rubles." 

"  The  service,  in  Russia? "  exclaimed  Frau  Le- 
nore.  "  That  means  that  I  shall  have  to  part 
with  Gemma ! " 

"  I  may  get  myself  assigned  to  the  diplomatic 
corps!" — interposed  Sanin;  "I  have  several  in- 
fluential connections.  .  .  .  Then  the  service  is 
discharged  abroad.  If  not,  here  is  another  thing 
which  can  be  done — and  this  is  far  the  best  of  all: 
sell  my  estate,  and  use  the  resulting  capital  in 
some  profitable  undertaking — for  instance,  for  the 
development  of  your  confectionery  business." — 
Sanin  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  conscious  that  he  was 
saying  something  rather  absurd,  but  an  incom- 
prehensible audacity  held  possession  of  him !  He 
would  glance  at  Gemma,  who,  from  the  moment 
the  'practical"  discussion  began,  had  kept  ris- 
ing, walking  about  the  room,  seating  herself 
again,— he  would  glance  at  her— and  then  no  ob- 

140 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

stack  existed  for  him,  and  he  was  ready  to  ar- 
range everything,  instantly,  in  the  best  manner 
possible— if  only  she  were  not  disquieted! 

'  Herr  Kliiber  also  wished  to  give  me  a  small 
sum  for  repairing  the  shop,"  said  Frau  Lenore, 
after  a  brief  hesitation. 

''Mother!  for  God's  sake,  mother!"— cried 
Gemma,  in  Italian. 

'  We  must  discuss  these  matters  betimes,  my 
daughter,"— Frau  Lenore  answered  her,  in  the 
same  language. 

Again  she  turned  to  Sanin,  and  began  to  ques- 
tion him  as  to  what  laws  exist  in  Russia  concern- 
ing marriage,  and  whether  there  were  any  obsta- 
cles to  the  union  with  Roman  Catholics— as 
there  were  in  Prussia?— (At  that  time— in  the 
'40's,— all  Germany  still  recalled  the  quarrel  be- 
tween the  Prussian  government  and  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Cologne,  on  the  point  of  mixed  mar- 
riages.)—But  when  Frau  Lenore  learned  that, 
by  marrying  a  noble,  her  daughter  herself  would 
become  a  gentlewoman— she  manifested  some 
satisfaction.  —  "  But,  of  course,  you  must  first  go 
to  Russia?" 

"Why?" 

'But  why  not?  To  receive  permission  from 
your  emperor?" 

Sanin  explained  to  her  that  that  was  not  in 
the  least  necessary  ....  but  that,  perhaps,  he 
really  would  have  to  go  to  Russia  for  a  short  time 

141 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

before  the  wedding—  (as  he  uttered  these  words, 
his  heart  contracted  within  him,— Gemma,  who 
was  looking  at  him,  understood  that  it  contracted 
— and  flushed  crimson,  and  became  thoughtful) 
— and  that  he  would  try  to  take  advantage  of  his 
stay  in  his  native  land  to  sell  his  estate  ....  in 
any  case,  he  would  bring  thence  the  necessary 
money. 

[J  I  should  also  like  to  ask  you  to  bring  me 
some  good  Astrakhan  lambskins,  for  a  cloak," 
— said  Frau  Lenore.  "  I  hear  that  they  are 
wonderfully  fine  there,  and  wonderfully 
cheap!" 

"  I  certainly  will  bring  you  some — with  the 
greatest  pleasure! — and  Gemma  also!" — ex- 
claimed Sanin. 

"  And  me  a  morocco  cap,  embroidered  in  sil- 
ver,"— interposed  Emile,  thrusting  in  his  head 
from  the  adjoining  room. 

"Very  well,— I  will  .  .  .  and  some  slippers 
for  Pantaleone." 

"Come,  why  so?  why?" — remarked  Frau  Le- 
nore. "  We  are  talking  about  serious  things  now. 
But  here  is  another  point," — added  the  practical 
lady.  "  You  say  you  will  sell  your  estate.  But 
how  will  you  do  that?  Does  that  mean  that  you 
will  sell  the  peasants  also? " 

Sanin  felt  as  though  he  had  been  stabbed  in  the 
ribs.  He  remembered  that,  in  talking  with  Sig- 
nora  Roselli  and  her  daughter  about  the  serf- 

142 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

law,  which,  according  to  his  assertions,  roused  in 
him  profound  indignation,  he  had  repeatedly  as- 
sured them  that  he  would  never  sell  his  serfs  on 
any  terms  whatever,  because  he  regarded  such 
sale  as  an  immoral  act. 

"  I  shall  endeavour  to  sell  my  estate  to  a  man 
whom  I  shall  know  under  a  favourable  aspect," — 
he  articulated,  not  without  hesitation— "or, 
perhaps,  the  peasants  themselves  will  like  to 
buy  it." 

'That  is  the  best  of  all,"— assented  Frau  Le- 
nore.  'If  not,  to  sell  live  people  .  .  .  ."  "Bar* 
bariV  growled  Pantaleone,  who,  following 
Emile's  example,  had  made  his  appearance  in  the 
doorway,  shook  his  top-knot,  and  vanished. 

"It's  a  bad  business!"— thought  Sanin  to 
himself — and  shot  a  stealthy  glance  at  Gemma. 
She  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  his  last  words. 
1  Well,  never  mind! "  he  thought  again. 

In  this  wise  did  the  practical  conversation  con* 
tinue  almost  until  dinner-time.  Frau  Lenore 
grew  entirely  tame  toward  the  last— and  had  al- 
ready begun  to  call  Sanin  "Dmitry,"  shook  her 
finger  affectionately  at  him,  and  promised  to 
avenge  herself  for  his  craftiness.  She  asked  a 
great  many  and  minute  questions  about  his  native 
land,  because  "  that,  also,  is  very  important,"— 
demanded,  also,  that  he  should  describe  to  her  the 
marriage  ceremony,  as  the  rite  was  celebrated  in 
the  Russian  Church,  and  went  into  raptures  in 

143 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

advance  over  Gemma  in  a  white  gown,  with  a 
golden  crown  on  her  head.1 

"For  my  child  is  as  beautiful  as  a  queen," — 
she  said,  with  maternal  pride;  '  and  there  are  no 
such  kings  in  the  world ! " 

"There  is  no  other  Gemma  in  the  world!" — 
chimed  in  Sanin. 

"  Yes;  that  is  why  she  is— Gemma! "  (Every 
one  knows  that,  in  the  Italian  language,  Gemma 
signifies  "a  precious  stone — a  jewel.") 

Gemma  flew  to  kiss  her  mother.  ...  It  seemed 
as  though  only  now  had  she  begun  to  breathe 
freely— and  the  burden  which  oppressed  her  had 
fallen  from  her  soul. 

And  Sanin,  all  of  a  sudden,  felt  so  happy,  such 
a  childlike  merriment  filled  his  soul,  because,  lo,  it 
had  come  to  pass,  those  dreams  to  which  he  had 
surrendered  himself,  in  those  same  rooms,  had 
come  to  pass;  his  whole  being  leaped  for  joy  to 
such  a  degree  that  he  immediately  betook  himself 
to  the  shop ;  he  was  irrevocably  bent  upon  serving 
behind  the  counter,  at  whatever  cost,  as  he  had 
done  several  days  previously.  .  .  .  As  much  as 
to  say:  "  I  have  a  full  right  to  do  it  now!  for  I  'm 
a  domestic  man  now! " 

And  he  really  did  stand  behind  the  counter, 
and  really  did  trade,  that  is  to  say,  he  sold  to  two 
little  girls  who  entered  a  pound  of  candy,  instead 

i  Golden  (gilded)  crowns  are  held  over  the  heads  of  the  bride 
and  groom  during  the  marriage  ceremony  proper,  which  is  called 
"  crowning." — Translator. 

144 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

of  which  he  dealt  them  out  at  least  two  pounds, 
and  took  only  half  price  from  them.  At  dinner, 
as  a  betrothed  bridegroom,  he  officially  occupied 
a  seat  next  to  Gemma.  Frau  Lenore  pursued 
her  practical  calculations.  Emile  did  nothing 
but  laugh,  and  tease  Sanin  to  take  him  to  Russia 
with  him.  It  was  decided  that  Sanin  should 
set  off  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  Pantaleone 
alone  presented  a  rather  surly  aspect,  so  that 
even  Frau  Lenore  upbraided  him. — "And  yet 
thou  wert  his  second!"— Pantaleone  looked 
askance. 

Gemma  maintained  silence  nearly  all  the  time, 
but  never  had  her  face  been  brighter  or  more 
beautiful.  After  dinner,  she  called  Sanin  apart 
into  the  garden  for  a  moment,  and  halting  beside 
the  bench  on  which  she  had  been  sorting  cherries 
two  days  before,  she  said  to  him:— "Do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  Dimitri;  but  I  wish  to  remind 
thee,  once  more,  that  thou  must  not  consider 
thyself  bound.  .  .  . 

He  did  not  allow  her  to  finish  her  sentence.  .  .  . 

Gemma  turned  aside  her  face.— "And  as  for 
what  mamma  alluded  to— thou  rememberest?— 
the  difference  of  our  religious  creeds,  so  much  for 
that!"  .... 

She  seized  a  small  garnet  cross,  which  hung  on 
her  neck  upon  a  slender  cord,  gave  a  violent 
wrench,  and  broke  the  cord— and  gave  him  the 
cross. 

145 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  If  I  am  thine,  then  thy  faith  is  my  faith 
also!" 

Sanin's  eyes  were  still  wet  when  he  and  Gemma 
returned  to  the  house. 

By  the  evening,  everything  had  got  into  its 
wonted  routine.    They  even  played  tresette. 

XXXI 

Sanin  woke  very  early  on  the  following  day. 
He  found  himself  on  the  very  apex  of  human 
felicity ;  but  that  had  not  prevented  his  sleeping ; 
the  question,  the  vital,  fatal  question:  how  he 
should  sell  his  estate  as  speedily  as  possible,  and 
on  the  most  profitable  terms — disturbed  his  rest. 
Different  plans  crossed  in  his  head,  but  as  yet 
nothing  had  made  itself  clear.  He  left  the  house 
to  get  some  air,  to  freshen  himself.  He  wished 
to  present  himself  to  Gemma  with  a  project  al- 
ready prepared— not  otherwise. 

What  figure  was  that,  decidedly  heavy  and 
thick-legged,  but  neatly  clad,  walking  in  front  of 
him,  swaying  slightly  from  side  to  side  and  limp- 
ing? Where  had  he  seen  that  nape,  overgrown 
with  tumbled  masses  of  fair  hair,  that  head,  which 
seemed  to  be  set  directly  on  the  shoulders,  that 
soft,  fat  back,  those  plump,  dangling  arms? 
Could  it  be— Polozoff,  his  old  boarding-school 
comrade,  whom  he  had  lost  sight  of  for  the  last 
five  years?    Sanin  overtook  the  figure  which  was 

146 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

walking  in  front  of  him,  and  turned  round*  .  .  . 
A  broad,  sallow  face,  tiny,  pig-like  blue  eyes  with 
white  lashes  and  brows,  a  round,  beardless  chin — 
and  that  expression  of  the  whole  face,  indolent 
and  distrustful— yes,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  he, 
Ippolit  Polozoff. 

"  Is  my  star  acting  again?" — flashed  through 
Sanin's  thoughts. 

"Polozoff!  Ippolit  Sidorovitch!    Is  it  thou?" 

The  figure  halted,  lifted  its  tiny  eyes,  waited  a 
little,  and  unsealing  its  lips  at  last,  said  in  a  hoarse 
falsetto : 

"Dmitry  Sanin?" 

'The  very  same!"— cried  Sanin,  and  shook 
one  of  Polozoff's  hands;  clad  in  tight  glace 
gloves,  of  an  ash-grey  hue,  they  hung,  as  before, 
lifeless  down  his  fat  hips. — "  Hast  thou  been  here 
long?  Whence  earnest  thou?  Where  art  thou 
staying?" 

"  I  came  yesterday,  from  Wiesbaden," — re- 
plied Polozoff  without  haste, — "to  make  pur- 
chases for  my  wife — and  am  returning  to  Wies- 
baden to-day." 

"Akh,  yes!  thou  art  married— and,  so  I  hear, 
to  such  a  beauty!" 

Polozoff  turned  his  eyes  away.—"  Yes,  so  they 
say." 

Sanin  burst  out  laughing. — "I  see  that  thou 
art  still  the  same  ....  phlegmatic  fellow  as  thou 
wert  at  school." 

147 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Why  should  I  change? " 

"And  they  say,"— added  Sanin,  with  special 
emphasis  on  the  word  "say,"— "that  thy  wife  is 
very  wealthy." 

"  They  do  say  that  also." 

"  And  can  it  be  that  thou  dost  not  know  that 
thyself,  Ippolit  Sidoritch?" 

"I,  brother  Dmitry  ....  Pavlovitch?— yes, 
Pavlovitch!  don't  meddle  with  my  wife's  af- 
fairs." 

"Thou  dost  not  meddle?  Not  with  any  af- 
fairs?" 

Again  Polozoff  turned  away  his  eyes.— "Not 
with  any,  my  dear  fellow.  She— goes  her  way 
....  well,  and  I  go  mine." 

"Whither  art  thou  bound  now?  "—inquired 
Sanin. 

"Nowhere,  just  at  present;  I'm  standing  in 
the  street — and  talking  with  thee;  but  when  we 
get  through,  I  shall  go  to  a  hotel— and  break- 
fast." 

"  With  me  as  company— wilt  thou? " 

"  That  is— thou  art  referring  to  breakfast? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Pray  do,  it  will  be  much  jollier  to  eat  to- 
gether.   Thou  art  not  a  chatterer,  I  believe? ' 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Well,  all  right  then." 

Polozoff  moved  on.  Sanin  walked  beside  him. 
And  it  occurred  to  Sanin— Polozoff's  lips  were 

148 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sealed  once  more,  he  puffed  and  waddled  on  in 
silence — it  occurred  to  Sanin:  how  had  that  booby 
managed  to  hook  a  rich  and  beautiful  wife?  He 
himself  was  neither  wealthy,  nor  distinguished, 
nor  clever:  in  school  he  had  borne  the  reputation 
of  an  indolent  and  stupid  boy,  and  for  his  sleepi- 
ness and  gluttony  had  borne  the  nickname  of 
"  the  slobberer."    Amazing! 

'  But  if  his  wife  is  very  rich — they  say  she  is 
the  daughter  of  some  contractor — would  n't 
she  buy  my  estate?  Although  he  says  that  he 
does  not  meddle  with  any  of  his  wife's  affairs, 
it  is  impossible  to  believe  that!  Moreover, 
I  will  name  a  moderate,  advantageous  price! 
Why  not  make  the  effort?  Perhaps  this  is 
still  my  star  in  the  ascendant.  .  .  .  Done! 
I '11  try!" 

Polozoff  conducted  Sanin  to  one  of  the  best 
hotels  in  Frankfurt,  in  which,  of  course,  he  al- 
ready occupied  the  best  room.  The  tables  and 
chairs  were  loaded  down  with  bandboxes,  boxes, 
bundles.  .  .  .  :<  All  purchases  for  Marya  Niko- 
laevna,  my  dear  fellow!"  (Ippolit  Sidorovitch's 
wife  was  named  Marya  Nikolaevna.)  Polozoff 
sank  into  an  easy-chair,  groaned :  "  Ekh,  how  hot 
it  is!"  and  untied  his  neckcloth.  Then  he  rang 
for  the  head-waiter,  and  carefully  ordered  an 
extremely  abundant  breakfast.  "  And  let  the 
carriage  be  ready  in  an  hour!  Do  you  hear,  in 
precisely  an  hour!" 

149 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  head-waiter  bowed  obsequiously — and 
withdrew  in  slavish  fashion. 

Polozoff  unbuttoned  his  waistcoat.  From  the 
way  in  which  he  elevated  his  eyebrows,  panted 
and  wrinkled  his  nose,  it  could  be  seen  that  talk- 
ing would  be  a  great  burden  to  him,  and  that  he 
was  waiting,  with  some  trepidation,  to  see 
whether  Sanin  would  force  him  to  wag  his 
tongue,  or  would  take  upon  himself  the  trouble 
of  carrying  on  the  conversation. 

Sanin  understood  his  friend's  frame  of  mind, 
and  consequently  did  not  burden  him  with  ques- 
tions; he  confined  himself  to  the  most  indispen- 
sable; he  learned  that  he  had  been  in  the  service 
for  two  years  already—  ("in  the  Uhlans!  just  so; 
he  must  look  well,  I  should  think,  in  that  bob- 
tailed  uniform!")  —had  married  three  years  pre- 
viously,— and  this  was  the  second  year  he  had 
been  abroad  with  his  wife,  "  who  was  now  taking 
a  cure  for  something  or  other  in  Wiesbaden  " — 
and  then  would  set  out  for  Paris.  Sanin,  on  his 
side,  enlarged  as  little  on  his  past  life  as  on  his 
plans;  he  went  straight  to  the  principal  point — 
that  is,  he  began  to  talk  about  his  intention  to 
sell  his  estate. 

Polozoff  listened  to  him  in  silence,  only  cast- 
ing a  glance,  from  time  to  time,  at  the  door, 
whence  breakfast  must  make  its  appearance.  At 
last    the    breakfast    did    make    its    appearance. 

150 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  head-waiter,  accompanied  by  two  other 
servants,  brought  in  several  dishes  under  silver 
covers. 

"  Is  the  estate  in  the  Tula  government?  "—said 
Polozoff,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and 
tucked  a  napkin  into  the  collar  of  his  shirt. 

tf  Yes." 

"  In  the  Efrem  district.  ...  I  know." 

"Dost  thou  know  my  Alexyeevko?"  asked 
Sanin,  as  he  also  seated  himself  at  the  table. 

"Yes,  of  course  I  do."— Polozoff  stuffed  a 
morsel  of  omelet  with  truffles  into  his  mouth.— 
"  Marya  Nikolaevna— my  wife— has  an  estate  in 
the  neighbourhood  ....  uncork  that  bottle, 
waiter!  The  soil  is  fairly  good— only,  the  peas- 
ants have  felled  thy  forest.  And  why  art  thou 
selling  it? " 

"  I  need  the  money,  my  dear  fellow.  I  would 
sell  it  cheap.  Thou  hadst  better  buy  it  ...  by 
the  way." 

Polozoff  gulped  down  a  glass  of  wine,  wiped 
his  mouth  with  his  napkin  and  again  set  to  chew- 
ing—slowly and  noisily. 

"  H'm— yes,"— he  said  at  last.  "  I  'm  not  buy- 
ing estates:  I  have  no  capital.  Pass  the  butter. 
Perhaps  my  wife  will  buy  it.  Do  thou  talk  it 
over  with  her.  If  thou  dost  not  ask  a  great  price 
— she  does  not  disdain  that  sort  of  thing.  .  .  . 
But  what  asses  these  Germans  are!    They  don't 

151 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

know  how  to  boil  fish.  What  could  be  simpler, 
apparently  ?  And  yet  they  say :  '  The  Vaterland 
must  be  united ! '  Waiter,  take  away  this  abomi- 
nation!" 

'  Does  thy  wife  really  manage  the  property 
herself?"  inquired  Sanin. 

'  Yes.  Here,  these  cutlets  are  good.  I  recom- 
mend them.  I  have  already  told  thee,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch,  that  I  don't  meddle  with  any  of  my 
wife's  affairs— and  now  I  tell  it  to  thee  again." 

PolozofF  continued  to  munch. 

"  H'm.  .  .  .  But  how  can  I  talk  it  over  with 
her,  Ippolit  Sidoritch?" 

'  Why,  very  simply,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch.  Go 
to  Wiesbaden.  It 's  not  far  from  here.  Waiter, 
haven't  you  any  English  mustard?  No?  Beasts! 
Only,  don't  lose  time.  We  are  leaving  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  Permit  me,  I  will  fill  your 
glass:  the  wine  has  a  bouquet — 't  is  not  sour 
stuff." 

PolozofF 's  face  had  grown  animated  and  crim- 
son; it  only  grew  animated  when  he  ate  ...  or 
drank. 

"  Really,  I  don't  know  how  I  can  do  that,"— 
muttered  Sanin. 

"  But  why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry,  all  of  a 
sudden?" 

"  That 's  it  exactly,  my  dear  fellow,  I'm  in  a 
hurry." 

"  And  is  a  large  sum  needed? " 

152 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


<( 


Yes.     I  .  .  .  how  shall  I  tell  thee!     I  am 
planning  ....  to  get  married." 

Polozoff  set  on  the  table  his  wine-glass,  which 
he  was  in  the  act  of  raising  to  his  lips. 

"  To  get  married?  "—he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice 
— hoarse  with  surprise, — laying  his  fat  hands  on 
his  belly.  —  "  In  such  haste?  " 

"  Yes  .  .  .  very  soon." 

"  The  bride  is  in  Russia,  of  course? ?! 

"  No,  she  is  not  in  Russia." 

"Where  then?" 

"  Here,  in  Frankfurt." 

"And  who  is  she?" 

"  A  German ;  that  is  to  say,  no— an  Italian.  A 
resident  of  this  town." 

"With  money?" 

"  Without  money." 

"  So  love  is  very  strong? " 

"How  absurd  thou  art!    Yes,  it  is  strong." 

"  And  thou  needest  money  for  that? ': 

"  Well,  yes  ....  yes,  yes." 

Polozoff  swallowed  his  wine,  rinsed  out  his 
mouth,  washed  his  hands,  wiped  them  carefully 
on  his  napkin,  pulled  out  and  lighted  a  cigar. 
Sanin  stared  at  him  in  silence. 

"There  is  one  means,"  — bellowed  Polozoff  at 
last,  throwing  back  his  head,  and  emitting  a  slen- 
der stream  of  smoke.  —  "  Go  to  my  wife.  If  she 
takes  a  fancy,  she  will  disperse  all  thy  difficulty 
offhand." 

153 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"But  how  am  I  to  see  her,  thy  wife?  Thou 
sayest  that  thou  art  leaving  the  day  after  to- 
morrow?" 

Polozoff  closed  his  eyes. 

"  See  here,  I  '11  tell  thee  something,"— he  said 
at  last,  twisting  his  cigar  about  in  his  lips,  and 
heaving  a  sigh. — "Go  home,  dress  thyself  with 
all  speed — and  come  hither.  In  an  hour  I  set  out ; 
my  carriage  is  roomy — I  '11  take  thee  with  me. 
That 's  the  best  way  of  all.  But  now  I  'm  going 
to  have  a  nap.  I  must  always  have  a  nap  after 
eating,  my  dear  fellow.  Nature  demands  it — 
and  I  do  not  resist.  And  do  not  thou  disturb 
me." 

Sanin  pondered  and  pondered— and  suddenly 
raised  his  head ;  he  had  come  to  a  decision ! 

"  Well,  very  good,  I  accept— and  I  thank  thee. 
At  half -past  twelve  I  will  be  here— and  we  will 
set  out  together  for  Wiesbaden.  I  hope  thy  wife 
will  not  be  angry.  ..." 

But  Polozoff  was  already  snoring.  He  stam- 
mered: "Don't  disturb  me!"— waggled  his  legs, 
and  fell  asleep  like  an  infant. 

Once  more  Sanin  swept  a  glance  over  his 
portly  figure,  his  head,  neck,  his  highly-elevated 
chin  as  round  as  an  apple— and,  emerging  from 
the  hotel  ...  he  wended  his  way,  with  brisk 
strides,  to  the  Roselli  confectionery  shop.  He 
must  forewarn  Gemma. 


154 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXXII 

He  found  her  in  the  shop,  with  her  mother. 
Frau  Lenore  was  bending  over,  and  with  a  small 
folding  foot-rule  was  measuring  the  space  be- 
tween the  windows.  On  catching  sight  of  Sanin, 
she  straightened  up,  and  greeted  him  cheerily,  yet 
not  without  some  confusion. 

"Ever  since  your  words  of  yesterday,"— she 
began, — "ideas  have  been  coursing  round  in  my 
head  as  to  how  we  can  improve  our  shop.  Here, 
now,  I  think  we  might  place  two  small  cases  with 
glass  shelves;  you  know,  that  is  the  fashion  now. 
And  then,  too.  ..." 

1  Very  good,  very  good  .  .  .  .  "  Sanin  inter- 
rupted her. — "We  must  think  over  all  that. 
.  .  .  But  come  here,  I  have  something  to  tell 
you."  He  slipped  his  arms  into  Frau  Lenore's 
and  Gemma's  arms,  and  led  them  into  the  other 
room.  Frau  Lenore  was  alarmed,  and  dropped 
the  foot-rule  from  her  hand.  Gemma  was  on 
the  point  of  being  alarmed  also,  but  took  a  closer 
look  at  Sanin,  and  recovered  her  composure.  His 
face  was  anxious,  it  is  true,  but  it  expressed, 
at  the  same  time,  animated  courage  and  decision. 

He  begged  the  two  women  to  sit  down,  and 
stood  in  front  of  them— and  gesticulating  with 
his  hands,  and  ruffling  up  his  hair,  he  told  them 

155 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

everything:  his  meeting  with  Polozoff,  his  pro- 
jected trip  to  Wiesbaden,  the  possibility  of  sell- 
ing his  estate.  —  "Imagine  my  happiness," — he 
exclaimed  at  last:  "matters  have  taken  such  a 
turn  that  possibly  I  may  not  even  be  obliged  to 
go  to  Russia!  And  we  may  celebrate  the  wed- 
ding much  sooner  than  I  expected ! " 

"  When  must  you  go? " — asked  Gemma. 

"  This  very  day — an  hour  .hence;  my  friend  has 
hired  a  carriage — he  will  take  me." 

"  You  will  write  to  us? " 

"  Immediately !  as  soon  as  I  have  had  a  talk 
with  that  lady— I  will  write  instantly." 

"That  lady  is  very  rich,  you  say?" — asked 
practical  Frau  Lenore. 

"Extremely!  her  father  was  a  millionaire— 
and  left  her  everything." 

"  Everything— to  her  alone?  Well— that  's 
lucky  for  you!  Only,  look  out,  don't  cheapen 
your  estate!  Be  sensible  and  firm.  Don't  get 
carried  away!  I  understand  your  wish  to  be- 
come Gemma's  husband  as  promptly  as  possible 
....  but  caution,  before  all  else!  Don't  forget 
that  the  more  dearly  you  sell  your  estate,  the  more 
will  remain  for  you  two — and  for  your  children." 

Gemma  turned  away,  and  Sanin  began  again 
to  flourish  his  hands. — "  You  may  feel  assured  of 
my  caution,  Frau  Lenore!  But  I  am  not  going 
to  bargain.  I  will  tell  her  the  real  price:  if  she 
will  give  it— good;  if  she  will  not— I  don't  care." 

156 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

;'Are  you  acquainted  with  her — with  that 
lady?"  asked  Gemma. 

"  I  have  never  set  eyes  on  her." 

"And  when  shall  you  return?"   . 

■\  If  our  business  comes  to  nothing — the  day 
after  to-morrow;  but  if  all  goes  well,  I  may  be 
obliged  to  stay  an  extra  day  or  two.  In  any  case, 
I  shall  not  linger  a  single  moment.  For  am 
not  I  leaving  my  soul  behind  me  here  ?  However, 
I  have  talked  too  long  with  you,  and  I  must  run 
home  before  I  start.  .  .  .  Give  me  your  hand 
for  luck,  Frau  Lenore— we  always  do  that  in 
Russia." 

"The  right  or  the  left?" 

i  The  left — it  is  nearer  the  heart.  I  will  pre- 
sent myself  the  day  after  to-morrow — with  my 
shield  or  on  it!  Something  tells  me  I  shall  re- 
turn a  victor !  Good-bye,  my  kind,  my  dear  .  .  . 
ones.  ..." 

He  embraced  and  kissed  Frau  Lenore,  but 
asked  Gemma  to  come  into  her  room  with  him 
— for  a  moment — he  must  communicate  to  her 
something  very  important.  He  simply  wished  to 
take  leave  of  her  in  private.  Frau  Lenore  un- 
derstood this — and  did  not  seek  to  learn  what 
that  very  important  thing  was.  .  .  . 

Never  before  had  Sanin  been  in  Gemma's 
chamber.  All  the  enchantment  of  love,  all  its 
fire,  and  rapture,  and  sweet  dread — fairly  flamed 
up  within  him,  and  forced  its  way  into  his  soul, 

157 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

as  soon  as  he  crossed  that  sacred  threshold.  .  .  . 
He  cast  a  glance  of  emotion  round  about  him,  fell 
at  the  feet  of  the  dear  girl,  and  pressed  his  face 
to  her  form  .... 

"Thou  art  mine?"— she  whispered— "thou 
wilt  return  soon? " 

"  I  am  thine.  ...  I  will  return,"— he  re- 
peated, sighing. 

"  I  will  wait  for  thee,  my  dear  one! " 

A  few  moments  later,  Sanin  was  running 
along  the  street  to  his  quarters.  He  did  not  even 
notice  that  Pantaleone  had  sprung  out  of  the 
door  of  the  confectionery  shop  after  him,  all 
dishevelled— and  shouted  something  at  him,  and 
shook  his  hand,  raised  high  aloft,  and,  seemingly, 
menaced  him  with  it. 

Precisely  at  a  quarter  to  one,  Sanin  presented 
himself  to  Polozoff.  The  carriage  was  already 
standing  at  the  gate  of  his  hotel,  with  four  horses 
harnessed  to  it.  And  catching  sight  of  Sanin, 
Polozoff  merely  said:  "Ah!  he  has  made  up  his 
mind? "  and  donning  his  hat,  cloak  and  overshoes, 
and  stuffing  cotton  in  his  ears  although  it  was 
summer,  he  came  out  on  the  steps.  The  waiters, 
at  his  command,  arranged  all  his  numerous  pur- 
chases inside  the  carriage,  encircled  the  place 
where  he  was  to  sit  with  silken  cushions,  little 
bags,  parcels,  placed  at  his  feet  a  box  of  pro- 
visions and  tied  his  trunk  to  the  coachman's  seat. 

158 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Polozoff  paid  his  reckoning  with  a  lavish  hand, 
—and  although  he  was  hoisted  from  behind,  but 
respectfully,  by  the  officious  door-porter,  he  clam- 
bered, grunting,  into  the  carriage,  took  his  seat, 
stirred  up  everything  around  him  thoroughly,  se- 
lected and  lighted  a  cigar— and  only  then  did  he 
beckon  to  Sanin  with  his  finger,  as  much  as  to 
say:  "Get  in  also,  thou!"  Sanin  seated  himself 
by  his  side.  Polozoff,  through  the  door-porter, 
ordered  the  postilion  to  drive  properly,  if  he 
wished  to  get  drink-money;  the  carriage  steps 
rattled,  the  door  slammed,  the  carriage  rolled  off. 

XXXIII 

From  Frankfurt  to  Wiesbaden  nowadays,  by 
the  railway,  is  less  than  an  hour's  journey;  at 
that  time,  the  extra-post  managed  to  reach  it  in 
three  hours.  The  horses  were  changed  five  times. 
Polozoff  partly  dozed,  partly  swayed  about, 
holding  his  cigar  in  his  teeth,  and  talked  very 
little;  he  never  once  looked  out  of  the  window: 
he  took  no  interest  in  picturesque  views,  and  even 
announced  that— " nature  was  death  to  him!" 
Sanin  also  maintained  silence,  and  also  failed  to 
admire  the  views :  he  was  not  in  a  mood  for  that. 
He  surrendered  himself  wholly  to  meditations, 
memories.  At  the  posting-stations,  Polozoff 
paid  accurately,  took  note  of  the  time  by  his 
watch,  and  rewarded  the  postilions— with  little 

159 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

or  much— according  to  their  zeal.  At  the  middle 
of  the  journey,  he  took  two  oranges  from  the  box 
of  eatables,  and,  having  chosen  the  best,  he  of- 
fered the  other  to  Sanin.  Sanin  gazed  intently 
at  his  fellow-traveller,  and  suddenly  burst  out 
laughing. 

'  What  art  thou  laughing  at? " — asked  the  lat- 
ter, carefully  peeling  the  skin  from  the  orange 
with  his  short,  white  nails. 

"What  am  I  laughing  at?" — repeated  Sanin. 
— "  Why,  at  our  journey." 

"  What  of  it?  "—queried  Polozoff,  in  his  turn, 
dropping  into  his  mouth,  one  after  another,  the 
oblong  portions  into  which  the  meat  of  an  orange 
divides. 

"  It 's  very  queer.  Yesterday,  I  must  confess, 
I  was  thinking  as  little  of  thee  as  of  the  Emperor 
of  China,— and  to-day  I  am  driving  with  thee,  to 
sell  my  property  to  thy  wife,  of  whom  I  have  not 
the  slightest  conception." 

•j  All  sorts  of  things  happen," — replied  Polo- 
zoff. "If  thou  only  livest  long  enough,— thou 
wilt  see  every  sort  of  thing.  For  instance,  canst 
thou  imagine  me  riding  as  an  orderly-officer? 
But  I  have;  and  the  Grand  Duke  Mikhail  Pav- 
lovitch  gave  the  command :  '  At  a  trot,  that  fat 
cornet  is  to  ride  at  a  trot !    Hasten  thy  trot ! ' 

Sanin  scratched  behind  his  ear. 

"  Tell  me,  please,  Ippolit  Sidoritch,  what  is 
thy   wife   like?     What   sort  of   disposition   has 

160 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

she?  For  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  know,  you 
see. 

'  It  was  all  well  enough  for  him  to  command: 
'At  a  trot!' " — interposed  Polozoff,  with  sudden 
vehemence, — "but  me,  how  about  me?  And  I 
thought :  '  Take  your  ranks  and  epaulets  to  your- 
self, I  don't  want  them ! '  Yes  .  .  .  thou  wert 
asking  about  my  wife?  What  's  my  wife  like? 
— A  human  being,  like  everybody  else.  Don't 
stir  her  up— she  doesn't  like  that.  The  chief 
thing  is — talk  as  much  as  possible  ....  let 
there  be  something  to  laugh  at.  Tell  about  your 
love,  for  instance  .  .  .  and  as  amusingly  as  pos- 
sible, you  know." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  f  as  amusingly  as 
possible '?" 

'  Why,  just  that.  For  thou  hast  told  me  that 
thou  art  in  love,  that  thou  wishest  to  marry. 
Well,  then,  describe  it." 

Sanin  took  offence. — "What  dost  thou  find 
ridiculous  in  that? " 

Polozoff  merely  rolled  his  eyes  about.  The 
juice  from  the  orange  was  trickling  down  his 
chin. 

'  Was  it  thy  wife  who  sent  thee  to  Frankfurt 
to  make  purchases?" — asked  Sanin  a  little  while 
later. 

"  She  herself." 

"What  were  those  purchases?'' 

"  Toys,  of  course." 

161 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Toys?  hast  thou  children?" 

Polozoff  even  drew  away  from  Sanin.— "The 
idea!  Why  should  I  have  any  children?  Femi- 
nine gewgaws.  .  .  .  Finery.  In  the  department 
of  the  toilet." 

"  Art  thou  really  an  expert  in  that  line? " 

"  I  am." 

"But  didst  not  thou  tell  me  that  thou  didst 
not  meddle  with  any  of  thy  wife's  affairs  ? " 

"I  don't  meddle  with  anything  else.  But 
this  .  .  .  does  n't  count.  Out  of  tedium— I 
may  do  that.  And  moreover,  my  wife  has 
confidence  in  my  taste.  And  I  'm  keen  at  bar- 
gaining." 

Polozoff  began  to  talk  brokenly:  he  was  al- 
ready fatigued. 

"  And  is  thy  wife  very  rich? " 

"  Yes,  she 's  rich.    Only,  chiefly  for  herself." 

"  But,  apparently,  thou  hast  no  cause  for  com- 
plaint?" 

"  That 's  why  I  'm  her  husband.  The  idea  of 
my  not  getting  the  good  of  it !  And  I  'm  a  useful 
man  to  her:  she  finds  it  an  advantage  to  have 
me !    I  'm— convenient ! " 

Polozoff  wiped  his  face  with  a  silk  handker- 
chief, and  panted  heavily;  as  much  as  to  say: 
"  Spare  me;  don't  make  me  utter  any  more  words. 
Thou  seest  how  difficult  it  is  for  me." 

Sanin  left  him  in  peace— and  again  plunged 
into  meditation. 

162 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  hotel  in  Wiesbaden  before  which  the  car- 
riage drew  up  smacked  of  a  regular  palace.  Lit- 
tle bells  immediately  began  to  jingle  in  its  depths, 
a  bustle  and  running  to  and  fro  arose;  comely 
men,  in  black  dress-suits,  ran  to  the  chief  en- 
trance; a  door-porter,  shimmering  with  gold, 
threw  open  the  carriage-door  with  a  flourish. 

Polozoff  alighted  like  some  conqueror,  and  be- 
gan to  ascend  the  staircase,  all  spread  with  car- 
pet, and  perfumed.  A  man,  also  capitally-well- 
dressed,  but  with  a  Russian  face,  flew  to  meet  him 
—his  valet.  Polozoff  remarked  to  him  that 
henceforth  he  should  always  take  him  with  him, 
— for  on  the  day  before,  in  Frankfurt,  he,  Polo- 
zoff, had  been  left  for  the  night  without  warm 
water!  The  valet  depicted  horror  on  his  counte- 
nance— and,  bending  alertly  down,  he  removed 
his  master's  overshoes. 

'  Is  Mary  a  Nikolaevna  at  home?  "—asked  Po- 
lozoff. 

!  Yes,  sir.  She  is  dressing.  She  is  going  to 
dine  at  Countess  Lasiinsky's." 

"  Ah !  with  that  ....  Stay!  There  are  things 
yonder  in  the  carriage;  take  everything  out  thy- 
self, and  bring  them  in.  And  do  thou,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch,"— added  Polozoff,—4'  engage  a  room 
for  thyself,  and  come  to  me  in  three  quarters  of 
an  hour.    We  will  dine  together." 

Polozoff  went  his  way,  and  Sanin  asked  for 
the   plainest  room   they   had;   and   having   ad- 

163 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

justed  his  toilet,  and  rested  a  little,  he  betook 
himself  to  the  vast  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  his 
Transparency  (Durchlaucht),  Prince  von  Polo- 
zoff. 

He  found  that  "  prince  "  seated  in  a  sumptuous 
velvet  arm-chair,  in  the  middle  of  the  most  mag- 
nificent sort  of  a  salon.  Sanin's  phlegmatic  friend 
had  already  managed  to  take  a  bath,  and  array 
himself  in  the  richest  of  satin  dressing-gowns ;  on 
his  head  he  had  set  a  crimson  fez.  Sanin  ad- 
vanced to  him,  and  surveyed  him  for  a  while. 
Polozoff  was  sitting  motionless  as  an  idol ;  he  did 
not  even  turn  his  face  to  one  side,  he  did  not  even 
move  an  eyebrow,  he  did  not  emit  a  sound.  The 
spectacle  was,  in  very  truth,  majestic!  After 
having  admired  him  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  Sa- 
nin was  on  the  point  of  speaking,  of  breaking 
that  sacred  silence — when  suddenly  the  door 
from  an  adjoining  room  opened,  and  on  the 
threshold  appeared  a  young,  handsome  lady,  in  a 
white  silk  gown  trimmed  with  black  lace,  with 
diamonds  on  her  arms  and  on  her  neck — Marva 
Nikolaevna  Polozoff  in  person!  Her  thick, 
ruddy-gold  hair  fell  on  both  sides  of  her  head — 
in  tresses  which  were  plaited  but  not  pinned  up. 

XXXIV 

"  Akh,  pardon  me!" — she  said,  with  a  half -con- 
fused, half -mocking  smile,  instantly  seizing  the 

164 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

end  of  one  plait  in  her  hand,  and  riveting  her 
large,  brilliant  grey  eyes  on  Sanin. — "  I  did  not 
think  you  had  eome  yet." 

'  Sanin,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch,  the  friend  of  my 
childhood,"  said  Polozoff,  as  before — not  turning 
toward  him,  and  not  rising,  but  pointing  at  him 
with  his  finger. 

1  Yes,  I  know.  .  .  .  Thou  hast  already  told 
me.  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
But  I  wanted  to  ask  thee,  Ippolit  Sidoritch.  .  .  . 
My  maid  is  rather  stupid  to-day  .  .  .  .  " 

"To  pin  up  thy  hair?" 

"Yes,  yes,  please.  Excuse  me," — repeated 
Marya  Nikolaevna,  with  her  former  smile, 
nodding  her  head  at  Sanin,  and  wheeling  swiftly 
round,  disappeared  through  the  door,  leaving  be- 
hind her  a  fleeting  but  stately  impression  of  a 
charming  neck,  wonderful  shoulders,  a  wonder- 
ful figure. 

Polozoff  rose,  and  waddling  cumbrously, 
passed  through  the  same  door. 

Sanin  did  not,  for  one  moment,  doubt  that  his 
presence  in  "  Prince  Polozoff's "  drawing-room 
was  known  to  its  mistress;  the  whole  trick  lay 
in  displaying  her  hair,  which  really  was  fine. 
Sanin  even  inwardly  rejoiced  at  this  prank  on 
Madame  Polozoff's  part:  "If  she  wanted  to  as- 
tound me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  to  shine  in  my 
presence — perhaps,  who  knows?  she  will  be 
yielding  in  the  matter  of  the  price  of  my  estate." 

165 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

His  soul  was  so  filled  with  Gemma  that  all  other 
women  possessed  no  significance  whatever  for 
him :  he  hardly  noticed  them ;  and  on  this  occasion 
he  confined  himself  to  thinking :  "  Yes,  I  was  told 
the  truth :  she  is  a  lady  of  the  first  quality ! " 

But  had  he  not  been  in  such  an  exceptional 
spiritual  condition,  he  would,  in  all  probability, 
have  expressed  himself  differently:  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna  Polozoff,  born  Kolyshkin,  was  a  very 
remarkable  person.  Not  that  she  was  an  acknow- 
ledged beauty:  the  traces  of  her  plebeian  origin 
were  even  quite  distinctly  visible.  Her  brow 
was  low,  her  nose  somewhat  fleshy  and  turned  up, 
she  could  boast  neither  delicacy  of  complexion, 
nor  elegance  of  hands  and  feet — but  what  did  all 
that  matter?  Not  before  "  a  goddess  of  beauty," 
as  Pushkin  says,  would  any  one  pause  who  met 
her,  but  before  the  powerful  witchery  of  a  bloom- 
ing feminine  body,  not  exactly  Russian,  nor  yet 
exactly  Gipsy  ....  and  he  would  not  have 
paused  involuntarily! 

But  Gemma's  image  protected  Sanin,  like  that 
triple  armour  of  which  the  poets  sing. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Marya  Nikolaevna  made 
her  appearance  again,  accompanied  by  her 
spouse.  She  went  up  to  Sanin  .  .  .  and  her 
walk  was  such  that  some  eccentric  persons,  in 
those,  alas!  already  distant  days,  would  have 
gone  out  of  their  minds  at  that  walk  alone. 
"  That  woman,   when   she   comes   toward   thee, 

166 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

seems  to  be  bringing  the  whole  happiness  of  thy 
life  to  meet  thee," — one  of  them  was  wont  to  say. 
She  walked  up  to  Sanin,  offered  him  her  hand, 
said  in  her  caressing  and,  as  it  were,  repressed 
voice,  in  Russian :  ' '  You  will  wait  for  me,  will 
you  not?    I  shall  return  soon." 

Sanin  bowed  respectfully,  and  Marya  Niko- 
laevna  disappeared  behind  the  portiere  of  the  en- 
trance door — and,  as  she  vanished,  turned  her 
head  back,  over  her  shoulder, — and  smiled  again, 
and  again  left  behind  her  a  harmonious  impres- 
sion, as  before. 

When  she  smiled— not  one,  not  two,  but  three 
dimples  made  their  appearance  on  each  cheek — 
and  her  eyes  smiled  more  than  her  lips,  than  her 
long,  rosy,  luscious  lips,  with  two  tiny  moles  on 
the  left  side. 

Polozoff  lumbered  into  the  room, — and  again 
placed  himself  in  the  easy-chair.  He  preserved 
silence,  as  before;  but  a  strange  grin  distended, 
from  time  to  time,  his  colourless  and  already 
wrinkled  cheeks. 

He  looked  like  an  old  man,  although  he  was 
only  three  years  older  than  Sanin. 

The  dinner  to  which  he  treated  his  guest 
would,  of  course,  have  satisfied  the  most  exact- 
ing gastronomist,  but  to  Sanin  it  appeared  in- 
terminable, intolerable!  Polozoff  ate  slowly, 
"  with  feeling,  with  understanding,  with  pauses," 
bending  attentively  over  his  plate,  sniffing  at  al- 

167 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

most  every  morsel:  first  he  would  rinse  out  his 
mouth  with  wine,  and  then  swallow  and  smack 
his  lips.  .  .  And  after  the  roast,  he  suddenly  be- 
gan to  talk— but  about  what?  About  merino 
sheep,  a  whole  flock  of  which  he  was  intending  to 
import,  and  in  such  detail,  using  constantly  di- 
minutive nouns,  with  such  tenderness!  After 
drinking  a  cup  of  boiling  hot  coffee,—  (he  had 
several  times  reminded  the  waiter,  in  a  tearfully- 
irritated  voice,  that  he  had  been  served  on  the 
previous  evening  with  cold  coffee — cold  as  ice!)  — 
and  having  bitten  off  the  tip  of  a  Havana  cigar 
with  his  yellow,  crooked  teeth— he  relapsed  into 
a  doze,  after  his  custom,  to  the  great  joy  of  Sa- 
nin,  who  began  to  walk  back  and  forth,  with  in- 
audible footsteps,  on  the  soft  carpet— and 
dream  about  how  he  would  live  with  Gemma, 
and  with  what  news  he  should  return  to  her.  P6- 
lozoff,  however,  awoke  earlier  than  usual,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  statement, — he  had  slept  only  an 
hour  and  a  half, — and  having  drunk  a  glass  of 
iced  seltzer  water,  and  swallowed  about  eight 
spoonfuls  of  preserves,  Russian  preserves,  which 
his  valet  brought  to  him  in  a  dark-green,  genuine 
"Kieff  "*  glass  jar,  and  without  which,  as  he  said, 
he  could  not  exist — he  fixed  his  puffy  eyes  on 
Sanin  and  asked  him  whether  he  would  not  like 
to  play  at  "fool"  with  him?2  Sanin  gladly  as- 

x  The  preserves  made  in  Kieff  are  famous. — Translator. 
2  A   very   simple   card    game.  —  Translator. 

168 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sented;  he  was  afraid  that  Polozoff  might  begin 
to  talk  about  the  rams  again,  and  about  ewe 
lambs,  and  nice  little  fat  sheep-tails.  Host  and 
guest  went  into  the  drawing-room,  the  waiter 
brought  cards,— and  the  game  began,  not  for 
money,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  found  them  at  this  inno- 
cent diversion,  when  she  returned  from  Countess 
Lasunsky's. 

She  laughed  aloud,  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
room,  and  caught  sight  of  the  cards,  and  the  out- 
spread V ombre  table.  Sanin  sprang  up  from  his 
seat,  but  she  exclaimed:  "  Sit  down,  go  on  play- 
ing.— I  will  change  my  gown,  and  return  to  you  " 
—and  again  vanished,  rustling  her  dress,  and 
drawing  off  her  gloves  as  she  went. 

She  did,  in  fact,  return  very  soon.  She  had 
changed  her  festive  array  for  a  full,  loose  silk 
gown,  of  lilac  hue,  with  open,  hanging  sleeves ;  a 
thick,  twisted  cord  encircled  her  waist.  She 
seated  herself  beside  her  husband, — and  waiting 
until  he  had  been  beaten,  she  said  to  him:  "  Come, 
Puffy,  that  will  do!"- (at  the  word  "Puffy," 
Sanin  cast  a  glance  of  surprise  at  her — and  she 
smiled  back  gaily,  answering  his  glance  with  a 
glance,  and  displaying  all  the  dimples  in  her 
cheeks) — "that  will  do;  I  see  that  thou  art 
sleepy;  kiss  my  hand,  and  go  to  bed;  Mr.  Sanin 
and  I  will  chat  together." 

"I'm  not  sleepy,"— said  Polozoff,  rising  lum- 

1G9 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

beringly  from  his  chair,—"  but  as  for  going  to  bed 
—I  '11  go,  and  I  '11  kiss  thy  hand."  She  offered 
him  her  palm,  without  ceasing  to  smile  and  to 
glance  at  Sanin. 

Polozoff  also  glanced  at  him— and  went  off, 
without  saying  good  night. 

"  Come,  tell  me  your  story,  tell  me,"— said 
Marya  Nikolaevna  with  animation,  placing  both 
bare  elbows  simultaneously  on  the  table,  and  im- 
patiently tapping  the  nails  of  one  hand  against 
the  nails  of  the  other. — "  Are  you  really  going  to 
be  married,  as  I  am  told  ? " 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  Marya  Nikolaevna 
even  inclined  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  in  order 
that  she  might  look  Sanin  the  more  intently  and 
keenly  in  the  eye. 

XXXV 

Madame  Polozoff's  free  and  easy  behaviour 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  disconcerted  Sanin 
at  first— although  he  was  no  novice,  and  had  al- 
ready rubbed  up  against  people— if  in  that  very 
freedom  and  familiarity  he  had  not  discerned 
another  good  omen  for  his  enterprise.  "  I  '11  hu- 
mour the  caprices  of  this  wealthy  lady,"— he  de- 
cided in  his  own  mind, — and  answered  her  with 
an  unconstraint  equal  to  that  with  which  she  had 
put  the  question:— "Yes,  I'm  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

170 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


>j 


"  To  whom?    To  a  foreigner? 

"  Yes." 

"You  have  not  known  her  long?  In  Frank- 
furt?" 

"  Exactly  so." 

"And  who  is  she?    May  one  inquire?" 

"  One  may.  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  confec- 
tioner." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  opened  her  eyes  very 
widely,  and  elevated  her  brows. 

"  Why,  that  is  delightful," — she  said  in  a 
drawling  tone— "that's  splendid!  I  had  sup- 
posed that  there  were  no  longer  any  such  young 
men  as  you  in  the  world.  The  daughter  of  a  con- 
fectioner!" 

"  I  see  that  that  surprises  you," — remarked 
Sanin,  not  without  dignity;  "but,  in  the  first 
place,  I  have  none  of  those  prejudices  .  .  .  .  " 

u  In  the  first  place,  that  does  not  surprise  me 
in  the  least," — interrupted  Marya  Nikolaevna — 
"  I  have  no  prejudices  either.  I  myself  am  the 
daughter  of  a  peasant.  Hey?  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  I  am  surprised  and  delighted  that 
here  is  a  man  who  is  not  afraid  to  love.  For  you 
do  love  her,  I  suppose? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  she  very  handsome? " 

Sanin  winced  a  little  at  this  last  question.  .  .  . 
However,  there  was  no  drawing  back  now. 

"You  know,  Marya  Nikolaevna,"— he  began 

171 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

—  "that  to  every  man  the  face  of  his  beloved  ap- 
pears superior  to  all  others;  but  my  bride  is  a 
genuine  beauty." 

'Really?  In  what  style?  the  Italian?  the  an- 
tique?" 

'  Yes;  she  has  very  regular  features." 

"Have  you  her  portrait  with  you?" 

'No!"  (At  that  date,  there  was  no  idea  of 
such  a  thing  as  photographs.  Daguerreotypes 
had  hardly  begun  to  be  generally  known. ) 

"  What  is  her  name? " 

"  Her  name  is— Gemma." 

"And  what  is  yours?" 

"  Dmitry." 

"And  your  patronymic?" 

"  Pavlovitch." 

"Do  you  know,"— said  Marya  Nikolaevna, 
still  in  the  same  drawling  tone, — "  I  like  you  very 
much,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch.  You  must  be  a  fine 
man.  Come,  give  me  your  hand.  Let  us  be 
friends." 

She  pressed  his  hand  warmly,  with  her 
beautiful,  white,  strong  fingers.  Her  hand 
was  somewhat  smaller  than  his — but  much 
warmer  and  smoother,  and  softer  and  more 
feminine. 

"  Only,  do  you  know  what  has  come  into  my 
head?" 

"What?" 

"You  will  not  be  angry?    No?     She  is  your 

172 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

betrothed  bride,  you  say.     But  is  that  ....  is 
that  imperatively  necessary?" 

Sanin  frowned.  — "I  do  not  understand  you, 
Marya  Nikolaevna." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  broke  into  a  soft  laugh — 
and  shaking  her  head,  she  tossed  back  her  hair, 
which  had  fallen  over  her  face.  — "  Positively— 
he  is  charming,"— she  said,  in  a  half -thoughtful, 
half -absent-minded  way.— "A  knight!  After 
that,  just  believe,  if  you  will,  the  people  who 
assert  that  all  the  idealists  have  died  out!" 

Marya  Nikolaevna,  all  this  while,  had  been 
talking  Russian  in  a  wonderfully-pure,  genuine 
Moscow  language— of  a  popular,  not  a  noble 
cast. 

"  You  certainly  must  have  been  reared  at  home, 
in  an  old-fashioned,  God-fearing  family?  To 
what  government  do  you  belong? " 

"  Tula." 

"Well!  then  we  are  pigs  of  the  same  trough. 
My  father.  .  .  .  Of  course,  you  know  who  my 
father  was? " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

'  He  was  born  in  Tula.  .  .  He  was  a  Tula 
man.  Well,  very  good."  (Marya  Nikolaevna 
pronounced  that  "  very  good  "  in  petty-burgher 
fashion,  with  deliberate  intent — thus:  'kher- 
shoo.)1     "  Well,  now  let 's  get  to  business." 

1  The  usual  pronunciation  would  he  khoroahd — with  the  first 
two  o'u  resembling  a's. — Translator. 

173 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  That  is  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean  by  getting 
to  business?  What  are  you  pleased  to  designate 
by  that?" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  narrowed  her  eyes. — 
"  Why,  what  did  you  come  hither  for? ':  (When 
she  narrowed  her  eyes,  their  expression  became 
very  caressing  and  somewhat  mocking ;  but  when 
she  opened  them  to  their  full  extent,  in  their 
brilliant,  almost  chilly  gleam,  there  shone  forth 
something  evil  ....  something  menacing.  Es- 
pecial beauty  was  imparted  to  her  eyes  by  her  eye- 
brows, which  were  thick,  rather  close  together, 
genuine  sable  brows.)  :'  Do  you  wish  me  to  buy 
your  estate?  You  need  money  for  your  wedding? 
Is  n't  that  the  case?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  need  money." 

"  And  do  you  require  much? " 

"  For  my  first  needs,  I  might  content  myself 
with  a  few  thousand  francs.  Your  husband  is 
acquainted  with  my  estate.  You  might  consult 
with  him,— and  I  would  ask  a  low  price." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  moved  her  head  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left.— " In— the— first— place"  she 
began,  pausing  between  her  words,  tapping  the 
flaps  of  Sanin's  coat  with  her  fingers—"  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  consult  my  husband,  unless  it  be  in 
regard  to  my  toilet— he's  a  fine  hand  at  that; 
and,  in— the— second— place,  why  do  you  say 
that  you  would  set  a  low  price  on  it?  I  do  not 
wish  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  you  are  in 

174. 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

love,  and  ready  to  make  any  sacrifice.  ...  I  will 
accept  no  sacrifices  from  you.  How  would  this 
do?  Instead  of  encouraging  .  .  .  well,  how  can 
I  best  express  it?  noble  sentiments  in  you,  I  am 
to  strip  you  bare  as  a  linden-tree,  am  I  ? 1  That 
is  not  my  habit.  When  it  so  happens,  I  do  not 
spare  people — only,  it  is  not  in  that  way." 

Sanin  could  in  no  wise  understand  whether  she 
was  laughing  at  him,  or  talking  seriously,  and 
merely  thought  to  himself:  "  Oh,  yes,  one  must  be 
on  the  alert  with  thee ! " 

A  servant  entered  with  a  Russian  samovar,  a 
tea-service,  cream,  rusks,  and  so  forth,  and  a 
large  tray,  set  out  all  these  blessings  on  the  table 
between  Sanin  and  Madame  Polozoff,— and 
withdrew. 

She  poured  him  out  a  cup  of  tea. — "  You  will 
not  disdain  it?"— she  asked,  dropping  the  sugar 
into  the  cup  with  her  fingers,  although  the 
sugar-tongs  lay  there  at  hand. 

"  Good  gracious,  no !  .  .  .  From  such  a  lovely 
hand  ..." 

He  did  not  finish  the  phrase,  and  almost  choked 
himself  with  a  mouthful  of  tea,  while  she  gazed 
attentively  and  brightly  at  him. 

"  I  mentioned  a  low  price  for  my  estate," — he 
went  on, — "because,  as  you  are  now  abroad,  I 

1  The  linden  is  stripped  of  its  bark  to  make  plaited  peasant-slip- 
pers, bath-sponges,  and  mat-sucks — corresponding  to  burlaps — in 
which  everything  from  cherries  to  sheet-iron  is  wrapped. — Trans- 
lator. 

175 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

cannot  assume  that  you  have  much  ready  cash, 
and,  in  conclusion,  I  feel  myself  that  the  sale 
...  or  purchase  of  an  estate,  under  such  condi- 
tions— is  something  abnormal,  and  that  I  ought 
to  take  that  into  consideration." 

Sanin  became  confused,  and  lost  his  head,  but 
Marya  Nikolaevna  leaned  back  quietly  against 
the  back  of  her  chair,  crossed  her  arms,  and  gazed 
at  him  with  the  same  intent  and  brilliant  glance 
as  before.    At  last,  he  ceased  speaking. 

"Never  mind;  go  on,  go  on  talking,"— she 
said,  as  though  coming  to  his  assistance:  'I  am 
listening  to  you — I  find  it  agreeable  to  listen  to 
you;  speak  on." 

Sanin  began  to  describe  his  estate,  the  number 
of  desyatinas 1  it  contained,  where  it  was  situated, 
and  what  profits  could  be  derived  from  it  ...  . 
he  even  alluded  to  the  picturesque  location  of  the 
manor-house;  and  Marya  Nikolaevna  gazed  and 
gazed  at  him,  with  ever-increasing  brightness  and 
intentness,  and  her  lips  moved  slightly,  without 
a  smile:  she  was  biting  them.  He  felt  awkward, 
at  last;  he  relapsed  into  silence  for  the  second 
time. 

"Dmitry  Pavlovitch,"  began  Marya  Nikola- 
evna— and  grew  pensive.  .  .  .  "Dmitry  Pav- 
lovitch,"—she  repeated.— "  See  here:  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  purchase  of  your  estate  would  be 
a  very  profitable  affair  for  me,  and  that  we  shall 

*A  desyatina  is  2.70  acres. --Translator. 

176 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

come  to  an  agreement ;  but  you  must  give  me  two 
days, — yes,  two  days'  grace.  You  can  bear  sep- 
aration from  your  betrothed  for  a  couple  of  days, 
I  suppose?  I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  against 
your  will — I  give  you  my  word  of  honour.  But  if 
you  now  need  five  or  six  thousand  francs,  I  am 
ready  to  lend  them  to  you,  with  great  pleasure — 
and  we  will  settle  the  account  later  on." 

Sanin  rose.  — "I  must  thank  you,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna, for  your  kind  and  amiable  readiness  to 
be  of  service  to  a  man  who  is  almost  a  stranger 
to  you.  .  .  .  But  if  you  imperatively  insist,  then 
I  prefer  to  await  your  decision  as  to  my  estate — 
I  will  remain  here  two  days." 

'  Yes ;  I  do,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch.  And  will  it 
be  very  oppressive  for  you ?    Very?    Tell  me." 

'  I  love  my  betrothed,  Marya  Nikolaevna — it 
is  not  easy  for  me  to  be  parted  from  her." 

'  Akh,  you  man  of  gold!"— ejaculated  Marya 
Nikolaevna  with  a  sigh.  "  I  promise  not  to 
weary  you  too  much.    Are  you  going?" 

"  It  is  late," — remarked  Sanin. 

'  And  you  must  rest  after  the  journey — and 
from  the  game  at  '  fool '  with  my  husband. 
Tell  me — are  you  and  Ippolit  Sidoritch,  my  hus- 
band, great  friends? " 

'  We  were  brought  up  in  the  same  boarding- 
school." 

"And  was  he  like  that  then?" 

"Like  what?  "—inquired  Sanin. 

177 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Marya  Nikolaevna  suddenly  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  laughed  until  her  whole  face  was  crim- 
son, raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  rose  from 
her  chair,— and  swaying,  as  with  fatigue,  she 
advanced  to  Sanin,  and  offered  him  her  hand. 

He  bowed — and  went  toward  the  door. 

'  Be  so  good  as  to  present  yourself  very  early 
to-morrow, — do  you  hear?" — she  called  after 
him.  He  glanced  back,  as  he  quitted  the  room — 
and  perceived  that  she  had  dropped  into  her  arm- 
chair once  more,  and  had  thrown  both  arms  be- 
hind her  head.  The  wide  sleeves  of  her  wrapper 
fell  back  almost  to  her  shoulders— and  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  acknowledge  that  the  pose  of 
those  arms,  that  whole  figure,  was  enchantingly 
beautiful. 

XXXVI 

The  lamp  in  Sanin's  room  burned  long  after 
midnight.  He  sat  at  his  table,  writing  to  "  his 
Gemma."  He  told  her  everything;  he  described 
to  her  the  Polozoffs— husband  and  wife— but  en- 
larged chiefly  on  his  own  feelings, — and  ended 
by  appointing  a  tryst  three  days  hence !  !  !  (with 
three  exclamation  points).  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  took  that  letter  to  the  post,  and  went  for 
a  stroll  in  the  garden  of  the  Kurhaus,  where  the 
music  was  already  playing.  There  were  few 
people  as  yet ;  he  stood  for  a  while  in  front  of  the 

178 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

arbour  in  which  the  orchestra  was  located,  listened 
to  a  potpourri  from  "  Robert  le  Diable,"— and 
after  drinking  coffee,  he  betook  himself  to  a 
lonely  side-alley,  sat  down  on  a  bench,— and  fell 
into  thought. 

The  handle  of  a  parasol  tapped  him  briskly — 
and  rather  vehemently— on  the  shoulder.  He 
started.  ...  In  front  of  him,  in  a  light-green 
barege  gown,  a  white  tulle  hat,  and  suede  gloves, 
fresh  and  rosy  as  a  summer  morning,  but  with  the 
softness  of  untroubled  slumber  not  yet  vanished 
from  her  movements  and  her  glance,  stood  Marya 
Nikolaevna. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  she.  "  I  sent  for  you 
this  morning,  but  you  had  already  gone  out.  I 
have  only  just  drunk  my  second  glass— they 
make  me  drink  the  water  here,  you  know— God 
knows  why  ...  am  not  I  well?  And  so  I  must 
walk  for  a  whole  hour.  Will  you  be  my  com- 
panion?   And  then  we  will  drink  coffee." 

i  I  have  already  drunk  mine," — said  Sanin, 
rising;  "but  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  walk  with 
you." 

!  Well,  then  give  me  your  arm.  .  .  .  Have  no 
fear;  your  betrothed  is  not  here — she  will  not  see 
you." 

Sanin  smiled  constrainedly.  He  experienced 
an  unpleasant  sensation  every  time  that  Marya 
Nikolaevna  mentioned  Gemma.  Nevertheless, 
he  bowed  hastily  and  obediently  ....  Marya 

179 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Nikolaevna's  arm  sank  slowly  and  softly  on  his 
arm, — and  slid  along  it,  and,  as  it  were,  clung 
to  it. 

"  Let  us  go  in  this  direction," — she  said  to  him, 
throwing  her  open  parasol  over  her  shoulder. 
"  I  am  quite  at  home  in  this  park:  I  will  lead  you 
to  the  pretty  spots.  And  do  you  know  what  (she 
frequently  used  these  words) — "you  and  I  will 
not  talk  about  that  purchase  now ;  we  will  discuss 
it  thoroughly  after  breakfast;  but  now  you  must 
tell  me  about  yourself  .  .  .  that  I  may  know 
with  whom  I  am  dealing.  And  afterward,  if  you 
like,  I  will  tell  you  about  myself.  Do  you 
agree?" 

;'  But,  Marya  Nikolaevna,  what  interest  can 
you  take  .  .  .  .  " 

"  Stop,  stop.  You  did  not  understand  me 
rightly.  I  do  not  wish  to  flirt  with  you." — 
Marya  Nikolaevna  shrugged  her  shoulders. — 
"  He  has  a  bride  like  an  antique  statue,  and  I  will 
flirt  with  him!  But  you  have  wares— and  I  am  a 
merchant.  And  I  want  to  know  what  wares  you 
have.  Come,  then,  show  what  they  are  like!  I 
want  to  know,  not  only  what  I  am  buying,  but 
the  person  from  whom  I  am  buying.  That  was 
my  father's  rule.  Come,  begin.  .  .  Well,  if  not 
with  your  childhood — here  now — have  you  been 
long  abroad?  And  where  have  you  been  up  to 
the  present  time?  Only,  walk  more  slowly — 
there  is  no  need  for  us  to  hurry." 

180 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


a 


I  came  hither  from  Italy,  where  I  spent  sev- 
eral months." 

"  And  everything  Italian  has,  evidently,  a  spe- 
cial attraction  for  you?  'Tis  strange  that  you 
did  not  find  the  object  of  your  affections  there. 
Are  you  fond  of  art?  of  pictures?  or  are  you 
more  fond  of  music?" 

'  I  am  fond  of  art.  .  .  .  And  I  love  all  that  is 
beautiful." 

"And  music?" 

"  And  music  also." 

'And  I  don't  love  it  at  all.  Only  Russian 
songs  please  me— and  that  in  the  country,  in 
spring— with  dancing,  you  know.  .  .  .  Red  cot- 
ton gowns,  pearl  fringes  on  the  headdresses,  the 
young  grass  in  the  pastures,  an  odour  of  smoke 
.  .  .  splendid!  But  the  question  is  not  of  me. 
Speak,  narrate." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  rambled  on,  and  kept 
glancing  at  Sanin.  She  was  tall — her  face  came 
almost  on  a  level  with  his  face. 

He  began  to  narrate — at  first  reluctantly, 
bunglingly — but  afterward  he  talked  a  great 
deal,  even  chattered.  Marya  Nikolaevna  listened 
in  a  very  clever  way ;  and  moreover,  she  appeared 
to  be  so  frank  herself  that  she  involuntarily 
evoked  frankness  in  others.  She  possessed  that 
great  gift  of  "familiarity" — le  terrible  don 
de  la  familiarite,— to  which  Cardinal  Retz  al- 
ludes.     Sanin  talked  about  his  travels,  his  so- 

181 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

journ  in  Petersburg,  his  youth.  .  .  .  Had  Marya 
Nikolaevna  been  a  fashionable  lady,  with  refined 
manners,  he  never  would  have  let  himself  go  like 
that;  but  she  called  herself  "a  good  fellow,  who 
would  not  tolerate  any  ceremony";  those  were 
precisely  the  words  in  which  she  described  herself 
to  Sanin.  And,  at  the  same  time,  the  "  good  fel- 
low" walked  beside  him  with  a  catlike  tread, 
slightly  leaning  toward  him,  and  gazing  up  into 
his  face; — and  in  the  form  of  a  young  person  of 
the  female  sex,  from  whom  emanated  that  intoxi- 
cating and  languorous,  quiet  and  burning  seduc- 
tion, wherewith  certain  Slavonic  natures— and 
those  not  the  pure  ones,  but  with  the  proper  ad- 
mixture—are able  to  torment  us  weak,  sinful 
men! 

Sanin's  stroll  with  Marya  Nikolaevna,  Sanin's 
chat  with  Marya  Nikolaevna,  lasted  more  than 
an  hour.  And  never  once  did  they  halt;  they 
kept  on  walking,  walking  along  the  endless  alleys 
of  the  park,  now  ascending  a  hill,  and  admiring 
the  view,  now  descending  into  a  valley,  and  hid- 
ing themselves  in  impenetrable  shadow— and  all 
the  time  arm  in  arm.  At  intervals,  Sanin  even 
felt  vexed  with  himself:  never  had  he  walked  so 
long  with  Gemma,  his  dear  Gemma  ....  and 
here,  this  lady  had  simply  taken  possession  of 
him  —  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  say !  — 
"Aren't  you  tired?"— he  asked  her  once.— "I 
am  never  tired,"— she  replied.    Once  in  a  while, 

182 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

they  met  other  ramblers;  almost  all  of  them 
bowed  to  her,— some  respectfully,  others  even 
with  servility.  To  one  of  them,  a  very  handsome, 
foppishly  attired  dark-haired  man,  she  called 
from  a  distance,  in  the  very  best  Parisian  accent : 
™  Comte,  vous  savez,  il  ne  faut  pas  venir  me  voir 
—ni  aujourd'hui,  ni  demean."  The  man  doffed 
his  hat,  in  silence,  and  made  her  a  profound 
salute. 

'Who  is  that?"— asked  Sanin,  in  accordance 
with  the  bad  habit  peculiar  to  all  Russians,  \\  ask- 
ing curious  questions." 

'That?  A  Frenchman — there  are  a  lot  of 
them  roaming  about  here.  .  .  .  He  .  .  .  also 
is  an  admirer  of  mine.  But  it  is  time  to  drink 
coffee.  Let  us  go  home;  I  think  you  must  be 
starved  by  this  time.  My  hubby x  must  have  got 
his  peepers  opened  by  now." 

"  Hubby !  peepers ! "  Sanin  repeated  to  him- 
self. .  .  .  "And  she  speaks  French  so  capitally. 
.  .  .  What  a  queer  person ! " 

Maeya  Nikolaevna  was  not  mistaken.  When 
she  and  Sanin  reached  the  hotel, — her  "hubby" 
or  "  Puffy  "  was  already  seated,  with  his  inevi- 
table fez  on  his  head,  at  a  table  spread  for 
breakfast. 

'I've  been  waiting  for  thee  this  long  time!" 

1  Untranslatable.     Literally,  "  My  orthodox 
believer." — Th  a  nslator. 

183 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  exclaimed,  with  a  sour  visage.  "  I  was  just 
about  to  drink  coffee  without  thee." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  —  responded 
Marya  Nikolaevna  gaily. — "Art  thou  angry? 
That 's  healthy  for  thee :  otherwise,  thou  wouldst 
congeal  altogether.  Here,  I  have  brought  a 
guest.  Ring  at  once!  Let  me  drink  coffee — the 
very  best  coffee— in  Saxony  cups,  on  a  snow- 
white  table-cloth ! " 

She  threw  off  her  hat,  her  gloves,  and  clapped 
her  hands.  Polozoff  darted  a  sidelong  glance  at 
her. 

"  What  made  you  gallop  about  so  long  to-day, 
Marya  Nikolaevna?" — he  said,  in  an  undertone. 

"  That  's  no  affair  of  yours,  Ippolit  Sidoritch! 
Ring  the  bell!  Sit  down,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch — 
and  drink  coffee  for  the  second  time !  Akh !  how 
jolly  it  is  to  give  orders!  There  is  no  other  plea- 
sure on  earth ! " 

"When  people  obey,"— growled  her  husband 
again. 

"Precisely,  when  people  obey!  That's  why  I 
find  it  jolly.  Especially  with  thee.  Is  n't  that  so, 
Puffy?    And  here  comes  the  coffee." 

On  the  huge  tray  with  which  the  waiter  made 
his  appearance,  lay  also  the  theatrical  programme. 
Marya  Nikolaevna  seized  it. 

"A  drama!"— she  ejaculated  with  indigna- 
tion:— "German  drama.  Never  mind;  that's 
better  than  German  comedy.    Order  a  box  to  be 

184 


Iv 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

engaged  for  me— a  baignoire— or  no  .  .  .  tl 
Fremden-loge  will  be  better," — she  said  to  the 
waiter.  "Do  you  hear:  the  Fremden-loge,  with- 
out fail!" 

"  But  what  if  the  Fremden-loge  is  already 
taken  by  his  Excellency  the  town-director— 
(Seine  Excellenz  der  Herr  Stadt-Director)  ?"— 
the  waiter  ventured  to  observe. 

"  Give  his  Excellency  ten  thalers — and  let  me 
have  the  box!    Do  you  hear! " 

The  waiter  bowed  his  head  submissively  and 
sadly. 

"  Dmitry  Pavlovitch,  will  you  go  to  the  theatre 
with  me?  the  German  actors  are  horrible, — but 
you  will  go.  .  .  .  Yes  ?  Yes !  How  amiable  you 
are!    Thou  wilt  not  go,  wilt  thou,  Puffy? " 

"As  thou  commandest,"— said  Polozoff  into 
his  cup,  which  he  was  raising  to  his  mouth. 

"  Dost  know  what :  stay  here.  Thou  always 
fallest  asleep  in  the  theatre, — and  thou  under- 
standest  German  badly.  This  is  what  thou  hadst 
better  do:  write  a  reply  to  the  steward — thou  re- 
memberest,  about  our  mill  .  .  .  about  the  peas- 
ants' grinding.  Tell  him  that  I  won't,  I  won't, 
I  won't !  There 's  occupation  for  thee,  for  the 
whole  evening." 

I  obey," — remarked  Polozoff. 
Well,  very  good  indeed.     Thou  art  a  clever 
dear.    And  now,  gentlemen,  seeing  that  we  have 
mentioned  the  steward,  let  us  discuss  our  main 

185 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

business.  As  soon  as  the  waiter  has  cleared  the 
table,  you  shall  tell  us  everything  about  your  es- 
tate, Dmitry  Pavlovitch — what,  how,  at  what 
price  you  will  sell  it,  how  much  earnest-money 
you  want  in  advance, — in  a  word,  everything!" 
("At  last!"  thought  Sanin,-" thank  God!")- 
"  You  have  already  communicated  to  me  some 
details ;  you  described  your  park  splendidly,  I  re- 
member—but Puffy  was  not  present.  .  .  .  Let 
him  hear  about  it— he  always  finds  some  fault! 
It  is  very  pleasant  to  me  to  think  that  I  can  help 
on  your  marriage — and  I  promised  you  that  we 
would  occupy  ourselves  with  you  after  breakfast ; 
and  I  always  keep  my  promises; — isn't  that  so, 
Ippolit  Sidoritch?" 

Polozoff  rubbed  his  face  with  the  palm  of  his 
hand. — "What  is  true  is  true;  you  deceive  no 
one." 

"Never!  and  I  never  will  deceive  any  one. 
Come,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch, — state  the  case,  as  we 
express  ourselves  in  the  senate." 

XXXVII 

Sanin  set  to  work  to  "  state  the  case," — that  is, 
to  describe  his  estate  again,  for  the  second  time, 
but  on  this  occasion,  without  touching  on  the 
beauties  of  nature — and  from  time  to  time  ap- 
pealing to  Polozoff  for  confirmation  of  the 
"  facts    and    figures "    quoted.      But    Polozoff 

186 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

merely  grinned  and  shook  his  head— whether  in 
approbation  or  disapprobation,  was  a  point  which, 
apparently,  the  devil  himself  could  not  have  de- 
termined. However,  Marya  Nikolaevna  did  not 
need  his  sympathy.  She  displayed  such  commer- 
cial and  administrative  capacities  as  could  but 
evoke  amazement !  The  most  petty  details  of  estate 
management  were  excellently  well  known  to  her ; 
she  put  accurate  questions  about  everything,  she 
ventured  into  everything;  her  every  word  hit  the 
mark,  placed  the  dot  directly  on  the  L  Sanin  had 
not  anticipated  such  an  examination:  he  had  not 
prepared  himself.  And  this  examination  lasted 
for  a  whole  hour  and  a  half.  Sanin  experienced 
all  the  sensations  of  a  criminal  on  trial,  seated  on 
the  narrow  bench  before  a  stern,  a  keen  judge. 
\  Why,  this  is  an  inquisition ! "  he  whispered  anx- 
iously to  himself.  Marya  Nikolaevna  laughed 
the  whole  time,  as  though  she  were  jesting:  but 
Sanin  derived  no  relief  from  that;  and  when,  in 
the  course  of  the  "  inquisition,"  it  appeared  that 
he  did  not  understand  quite  clearly  the  words 
"repartition"  and  "tillage"— he  fairly  broke 
into  perspiration. 

'Well,  very  good!"— said  Marya  Nikolaevna 
decisively  at  last.  '  Now  I  know  about  your  es- 
tate. What  price  do  you  fix  per  soul?'  (At 
that  time,  as  every  one  knows,  the  price  of  estates 
was  fixed  according  to  the  number  of  serfs. ) 
"Why  .  .  .  .  I  think  ...  I  cannot  take  less 

187 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

than  five  hundred  rubles" — articulated  Sanin 
with  difficulty.  (Oh,  Pantaleone,  Pantaleone, 
where  art  thou  ?  Here 's  the  point  where  thou 
shouldst  have  cried  out  once  more:  " Barbari!") 

Marya  Nikolaevna  rolled  her  eyes  heavenward, 
as  though  absorbed  in  thought. 

"Certainly," — she  said  at  last.  "That  price 
seems  to  me  unobjectionable.  But  I  stipulated 
for  two  days'  grace, — and  you  must  wait  until  to- 
morrow. I  think  we  shall  come  to  terms — and 
then  you  shall  say  how  much  cash  down  you  want. 
But  now,  basta  cosi!" — she  interpolated,  perceiv- 
ing that  Sanin  was  on  the  point  of  making  some 
reply. — "We  have  occupied  ourselves  enough 
with  the  despicable  metal  ...  a  demain  les  af- 
faires! Do  you  know  what:  I  will  let  you  go 
now  .  .  .  .  "  (she  glanced  at  an  enamelled  watch 
which  was  thrust  into  her  belt)  ....  "until 
three  o'clock  ...  I  must  give  you  time  to  rest. 
Go,  play  at  roulette." 

"  I  never  play  at  gambling  games,"— remarked 
Sanin. 

"  Really?  why,  you  are  the  pink  of  perfection! 
But  I  do  not  play  either.  It  is  foolish  to  fling 
one's  money  to  the  winds— on  a  certainty.  But 
go  into  the  gaming-room,  look  at  the  physiogno- 
mies. There  are  some  very  amusing  ones.  There 
is  one  old  woman  there,  with  a  gold  chain  on  her 
forehead,  and  moustaches— a  marvel !  One  of  our 
princes  is  there— he  's  nice  also.    A  majestic  fig- 

188 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

lire,  a  nose  like  an  eagle's  beak,  and  he  puts  on  a 
thaler— and  crosses  himself  on  the  sly  under  his 
waistcoat.  Read  the  newspapers,  walk  about,  in 
short,  do  whatever  you  like.  .  .  .  And  at  three 
o'clock  I  shall  expect  you  .  .  .  .  de  pied  ferme. 
We  must  dine  early.  The  theatre  with  these  ri- 
diculous Germans  begins  at  half -past  six." — She 
offered  him  her  hand.— "  Sans  rancune,  nest-ce 
pas?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  Marya  Nikolaevna,  why 
should  I  be  vexed  with  you? " 

"  Because  I  have  been  torturing  you.  Wait, 
I'll  do  it  in  a  different  way" — she  added,  nar- 
rowing her  eyes,— and  all  her  dimples  came  into 
sight  simultaneously  in  her  flushed  cheeks.— 
"  Until  we  meet  again!" 

Sanin  bowed  and  left  the  room.  A  merry 
laugh  rang  out  behind  him— and  in  a  mirror, 
which  he  was  passing  at  the  moment,  the  follow- 
ing scene  was  reflected:  Marya  Nikolaevna  was 
pushing  her  husband's  fez  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
he  was  resisting  with  both  hands. 

XXXVIII 

Oh,  how  deeply  and  joyously  did  Sanin  draw 
breath,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  his  own 
chamber!  In  point  of  fact,  Marya  Nikolaevna 
had  spoken  the  truth,  when  she  had  said  that  he 
ought  to  rest,— to  rest  from  all  those  new  ac- 

189 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

quaintances,  encounters,  conversations,  from  that 
haze  which  had  got  into  his  head,  his  soul;  from 
that  unexpected,  unsought  friendship  with  a  wo- 
man who  was  so  foreign  to  him!  And  when  was 
all  this  taking  place?  Almost  on  the  very  day 
after  the  one  on  which  he  had  learned  that  Gemma 
loved  him,  that  he  had  become  her  betrothed  hus- 
band! Why,  that  was  sacrilege!  A  thousand 
times  he  mentally  asked  forgiveness  of  his  pure, 
unspotted  dove — although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
could  not  accuse  himself  of  anything;  a  thou- 
sand times  he  kissed  the  little  cross  which  had 
been  given  to  him.  Had  he  not  had  a  hope  of 
bringing  to  a  speedy  and  successful  end  the  af- 
fair for  which  he  had  come  to  Wiesbaden,— he 
would  have  rushed  headlong  thence,  back  to  dear 
Frankfurt,  to  that  precious  house,  now  already  a 
home  to  him,  to  her,  to  her  beloved  feet.  .  .  .  But 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done!  He  must  drain 
the  phial  to  the  bottom,  he  must  dress  himself, 
go  to  dinner— and  thence  to  the  theatre.  ...  If 
she  would  only  release  him  as  promptly  as  pos- 
sible on  the  morrow ! 

One  other  thing  troubled  him,  enraged  him: 
he  had  thought  with  love,  with  emotion,  with  no- 
ble rapture  of  Gemma,  of  life  in  her  society,  of 
the  happiness  which  was  awaiting  him  in  the  fu- 
ture— and  yet  this  strange  woman,  this  Madame 
Polozoff,  kept  importunately  hovering — bobbing 
up  ...  .  precisely  that,  Sanin  expressed  him- 

190 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

self  with  peculiar  viciousness — bobbing  up  in 
front  of  his  eyes — and  he  could  not  rid  himself  of 
her  image,  he  could  not  help  hearing  her  voice  and 
recalling  her  speeches — he  could  not  even  help 
being  conscious  of  that  peculiar  perfume,  deli- 
cate, fresh,  and  penetrating,  like  the  perfume  of 
yellow  lilies,  which  emanated  from  her  garments. 
That  lady  was  plainly  making  a  fool  of  him,  and 
making  advances  to  him  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  .  .  . 
Why?  what  did  she  want?  Could  it  be  the  mere 
whim  of  a  spoiled,  rich,  and  almost  immoral  wo- 
man ?  And  that  husband  ?  What  sort  of  a  crea- 
ture was  he?  What  were  his  relations  to  her? 
Why  did  those  questions  crawl  into  the  head  of 
him,  Sanin,  who  really  cared  nothing  whatever 
for  Mr.  Polozoff  or  his  wife?  Why  could  not 
he  banish  that  pertinacious  image,  even  when  he 
turned,  with  all  his  soul,  to  another,  as  bright  and 
clear  as  God's  day?  How  dared  those  features 
shine  through  those  others,  which  were  almost 
divine?  And  they  not  only  did  shine  through— 
they  smiled  audaciously.  Those  grey,  rapacious 
eyes,  those  dimples  on  the  cheeks,  those  snaky 
locks  of  hair— and  could  it  be  that  all  this  had,  as 
it  were,  cloven  fast  to  him,  and  was  he  unable  to 
shake  off,  to  cast  aside  all  this? 

Nonsense !  nonsense !  to-morrow  everything  will 
disappear  and  leave  no  trace.  ...  But  will  she 
release  him  to-morrow? 

Yes,  he  put  all  these  questions  to  himself — and 

191 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

time  began  to  wear  on  toward  three  o'clock— and 
he  donned  his  black  dress-coat,  and  after  stroll- 
ing for  a  while  in  the  park,  he  went  to  the 
P61ozoffs\ 

He  found  in  their  drawing-room  a  secretary  of 
legation,  a  German,  a  long,  long,  blond,  with  a 
horse-like  profile,  and  his  hair  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle behind—  (that  was  still  in  fashion  at  that 
date) — and  .  .  .  oh,  wondrous  to  relate!  whom 
else?  von  Donhof,  that  same  officer  with  whom 
he  had  fought  a  few  days  previously!  He  had 
not  in  the  least  expected  to  meet  him  in  that  par- 
ticular place— and  he  involuntarily  grew  embar- 
rassed, but  saluted  him,  nevertheless. 

"Are  you  acquainted?"— asked  Marya  Niko- 
laevna,  whom  Sanin's  confusion  did  not  escape. 

"  Yes  ...  I  have  already  had  the  honour,"— 
articulated  von  Donhof — and  bending  slightly 
in  the  direction  of  Marya  Nikolaevna,  he  added, 
with  a  smile:  "  This  is  the  very  man.  .  .  .  Your 
fellow-countryman  ....  the    Russian  .... 

"It  cannot  be!" — she  exclaimed  in  an  under- 
tone, shaking  her  finger  at  him — and  immedi- 
ately began  to  dismiss  both  him  and  the  long  sec- 
retary, who,  by  all  the  signs,  was  dead  in  love 
with  her— for  he  even  opened  his  mouth  every 
time  he  looked  at  her.  Donhof  withdrew  imme- 
diately, with  amiable  submissiveness,  like  a  friend 
of  the  family,  who  understands  at  half  a  word 

192 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

what  is  required  of  him ;  the  secretary  tried  to  be 
stubborn,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  sent  him  away 
without  any  ceremony  whatever. 

'  Go  to  your  reigning  personage,"  she  said  to 
him  (there  dwelt  in  Wiesbaden  at  that  time  a 
certain  Principessa  di  Monaco,  who  bore  a  won- 
derful resemblance  to  a  wretched  woman  of  the 
half -world) — "why  should  you  sit  with  such  a 
plebeian  as  I  am? " 

'  Upon  my  word,  madame,"— the  unfortunate 
secretary  assured  her, — "all  the  princesses  in  the 
world.  ..." 

But  Marya  Nikolaevna  was  merciless— and 
the  secretary  took  himself  and  his  hair-parting 
off. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  had  arrayed  herself  very 
much  to  her  "  advantage  "—as  our  grandmothers 
were  wont  to  say— on  that  day.  She  wore  a 
gown  of  rose-coloured  glace  silk,  with  lace  a  la 
Fontanges,  and  a  huge  diamond  in  each  ear. 
Her  eyes  were  as  brilliant  as  the  diamonds:  she 
seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits. 

She  made  Sanin  sit  beside  her,  and  began  to 
talk  to  him  about  Paris,  whither  she  was  prepar- 
ing to  go  within  a  few  days ;  about  how  the  Ger- 
mans bored  her,  that  they  were  stupid  when  they 
were  wise,  and  inopportunely  wise  when  they 
were  stupid; — and  all  at  once,  straight  out — a 
brule  pour  point — she  asked  him  whether  it  were 
true  that  he  had  fought  a  duel  recently,  for  the 

193 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sake  of  a  lady,  with  that  officer  who  had  just  been 
sitting  there? 

'How  do  you  know  about  that?" — muttered 
the  astounded  Sanin. 

"  The  earth  is  filled  with  the  sound  thereof, 
Dmitry  Pavlovitch ;  but  I  know  that  you  were  in 
the  right,  a  thousandfold  in  the  right — and  be- 
haved like  a  true  knight.  Tell  me — that  lady — 
was  your  betrothed? " 

Sanin  contracted  his  brows  slightly.  .  . 

'  Come,  I  will  not,  I  will  not  do  it  again," — 
said  Marya  Nikolaevna  hastily.  "  It  is  disagree- 
able to  you ;  forgive  me,  I  won't  do  so  again !  do 
not  be  angry ! "  Polozoff  made  his  appearance 
from  the  adjoining  room,  with  a  sheet  of  news- 
paper in  his  hands. 

"  What  do  you  want?    Is  dinner  ready? ': 

"Dinner  will  be  served  directly,  and  just  see 
what  I  have  read  in  the  Northern  Bee  .... 
Prince  Gromoboy  is  dead." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  raised  her  head. 

"Ah!  The  kingdom  of  heaven  be  his!  Every 
year,"  she  said,  turning  to  Sanin,  "  in  February, 
on  my  birthday,  he  used  to  decorate  all  my  rooms 
with  camellias.  But  it  is  not  worth  while  to  live 
in  Petersburg  during  the  winter  for  that.  He 
was  over  seventy,  was  n't  he?"— she  asked  her 
husband. 

"  Yes.  His  funeral  is  described  in  the  paper. 
The  whole  court  was  present.  And  here  are 
Prince  Kovrizhkin's  verses  on  the  event." 

194 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Well,  that 's  splendid." 

"  I  '11  read  them  aloud,  if  you  like?  The  prince 
calls  him  a  man  of  counsel." 

"  No,  I  would  n't  like.  He  a  man  of  counsel 
indeed !  He  was  simply  the  husband  of  Tatyana 
Yiirievna.  Let's  eat  our  dinner.  The  living 
man  thinks  of  living  things.  Dmitry  Pavlovitch, 
your  arm." 

The  dinner,  like  that  of  the  preceding  evening, 
was  amazing,  and  passed  off  in  very  lively  style. 
Marya  Nikolaevna  had  a  talent  for  narration 
....  a  rare  gift  in  a  woman,  and  still  more  so 
in  a  Russian  woman!  She  did  not  stand  on  cere- 
mony as  to  her  expressions,  and  her  fellow-coun- 
trymen, in  particular,  caught  it  heavily.  More 
than  once  Sanin  was  forced  to  laugh  heartily  at 
some  audacious  and  well-aimed  remark.  The 
thing  which  Marya  Nikolaevna  could  endure 
least  was  hypocrisy,  empty  phrases  and  lying. 
. . .  She  found  this  almost  everywhere.  She  made 
a  display,  as  it  were,  and  boasted  of  the  lowly 
sphere  in  which  her  life  had  begun :  she  imparted 
decidedly  strange  anecdotes  about  her  parents,  in 
their  youthful  days;  she  called  herself  as  much 
of  a  clodhopper  as  Natalya  Kirilovna  Narysh- 
kin.1  It  became  evident  to  Sanin,  that  she  had 
gone  through  much  more,  in  her  day,  than  the 
great  majority  of  her  countrywomen. 

1  The  mother  of  Peter  the  Great,  through  whose  alliance  with 
Tzar  Alex£i  Mikhaflovitch  the  Naryshkins  (said  to  have  descended 
from  a  Crimean  Tatar)   first  came  into  prominence. — Thansi.atou. 

195 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

But  Polozoff  ate  thoughtfully,  drank  atten- 
tively, only  occasionally  darting  a  glance,  now  at 
his  wife,  again  at  Sanin,  with  his  whitish,  ap- 
parently blind,  but,  in  reality,  extremely  keen- 
sighted  eyes. — "What  a  clever  dear  thou  art!" 
— exclaimed  Mary  a  Nikolaevna,  turning  toward 
him:  "how  well  thou  hast  executed  all  my  com- 
missions in  Frankfurt !  I  'd  like  to  give  thee  a 
kiss  on  thy  dear  little  brow— but  thou  dost  not 
care  for  that  from  me." 

"  No,  I  don't," — replied  Polozoff,  as  he  cut  up 
an  orange  with  a  silver  knife. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  looked  at  him,  and 
drummed  on  the  table  with  her  fingers. 

"  So  our  wager  holds  good? " — she  said  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  It  does." 

"  All  right.    Thou  wilt  lose." 

Polozoff  thrust  his  chin  forward.— "Well, 
don't  be  too  sure  of  thyself  this  time,  Marya  Ni- 
lKlaevna,  for  my  opinion  is  that  thou  wilt  be  the 
loser." 

"  What  is  the  wager  about?  May  I  know?  "— 
asked  Sanin. 

"  No  ....  it  is  impossible  at  present,"— re- 
plied Marya  Nikolaevna,  with  a  laugh. 

The  clock  struck  seven.  The  waiter  an- 
nounced that  the  carriage  was  at  the  door. 
Polozoff  escorted  his  wife  to  the  door,  and 
immediately  returned  to  his  easy-chair. 

196 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"See  to  it  that  thou  dost  not  forget  the  letter 

to  the  steward!"— Marya  Nikolaevna  called  to 

him  from  the  antechamber. 

'  I  '11  write  it;  don't  worry.  I  'm  an  accurate 
man." 

XXXIX 

In  the  year  1840  the  theatre  at  Wiesbaden  was 
not  only  wretched  as  to  exterior,  but  its  troupe,  in 
their  pomposity  and  miserable  mediocrity,  their 
diligent  and  commonplace  routine,  did  not  rise 
by  so  much  as  a  hair's-breadth  above  the  level 
which,  down  to  the  present  day,  may  be  regarded 
as  normal  for  all  German  theatres,  and  of  which 
the  troupe  in  Carlsruhe,  under  the  "  celebrated  " 
direction  of  Herr  Devrient,  has  of  late  presented 
the  most  perfect  example.  Behind  the  box  en- 
gaged for  "  her  Transparency  Madame  von 
Polozoff'  (the  Lord  only  knows  how  the  waiter 
had  procured  it — whether  he  had  not,  as  an  actual 
fact,  bribed  the  Stadt-Director!) —behind  this 
box  was  a  little  room  with  small  divans  set  all 
around  the  walls.  Before  entering  it,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna asked  Sanin  to  raise  the  little  shades 
which  separated  the  box  from  the  theatre. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  seen,"— said  she,—"  for  in 
that  case,  people  will  make  their  way  hither  im- 
mediately." She  also  placed  him  beside  her,  with 
his  back  to  the  auditorium,  so  that  the  box  ap- 
peared to  be  empty. 

197 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  orchestra  played  the  overture  to  the 
"  Nozze  di  Figaro."  ....  The  curtain  rose :  the 
play  began. 

It  was  one  of  the  numerous  home-made  pro- 
ductions, in  which  well-read  but  talentless  au- 
thors, in  choice  but  deadly  dull  language,  assidu- 
ously but  clumsily  set  forth  some  "  profound  "  or 
"  palpitating "  idea,  presented  a  so-called  tragic 
conflict,  and  induced  a  tedium  .  .  .  fairly  Asi- 
atic, like  the  Asiatic  cholera !  Marya  Nikolaevna 
listened  patiently  to  half  of  one  act,  but  when  the 
first  lover,  on  learning  of  the  treachery  of  his  be- 
loved (he  was  dressed  in  a  cinnamon-brown  frock- 
coat,  with  "  puffs "  and  a  velveteen  collar,  a 
striped  waistcoat  with  mother-of-pearl  buttons, 
green  trousers  with  boot-straps  of  patent-leather, 
and  white  wash-leather  gloves), — when  that 
lover,  resting  both  clenched  fists  on  his  breast, 
and  protruding  his  elbows  in  front  of  him 
in  an  acute  angle,  began  to  howl  exactly  like 
a  dog— Marya  Nikolaevna  could  endure  it  no 
longer. 

"  The  worst  French  actor,  in  the  worst  little 
provincial  town,  plays  better  and  more  naturally 
than  the  leading  German  celebrity,"— she  ex- 
claimed indignantly,  and  changed  her  seat  to  the 
rear  room. — "  Come  here," — she  said  to  Sanin, 
tapping  the  divan  by  her  side.— "Let's  have  a 
chat." 

Sanin  obeyed. 

198 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Mary  a  Nikolaevna  darted  a  glance  at  him.— 
"  But  you  are  soft  as  silk,  I  see!  Your  wife  will 
have  an  easy  time  with  you.  That  buffoon," — 
she  continued,  pointing  the  tip  of  her  fan  at  the 
howling  actor  (he  was  playing  the  part  of  a  pri- 
vate tutor) , — "  has  reminded  me  of  my  youth;  I, 
also,  was  in  love  with  the  tutor.  It  was  my  first 
....  no,  my  second  passion.  I  fell  in  love  for 
the  first  time  with  a  young  fellow  in  training  for 
a  monk,  at  the  Donskoy  Monastery.1  I  was 
twelve  years  old.  I  saw  him  only  on  Sundays. 
He  wore  a  velvet  cassock,  he  scented  himself  with 
lavender  water,  as  he  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd  with  the  censer  he  spoke  to  the  ladies  in 
French:  'Pardon,  excusez'—^ndi  never  raised  his 
eyes,  but  he  had  eyelashes, — as  long  as  that!" — 
Marya  Nikolaevna  marked  off  with  her  thumb- 
nail half  of  her  middle  finger,  and  showed  it  to 
Sanin.— "My  tutor's  name  was  Monsieur  Gas- 
ton. I  must  tell  you  that  he  was  a  frightfully 
learned  and  very  strict  man,  a  Swiss,  and  with 
such  an  energetic  face!  He  had  side-whiskers  as 
black  as  pitch,  and  a  Grecian  profile— and  his  lips 
looked  as  though  they  had  been  cast  out  of  iron! 
I  was  afraid  of  him !  In  all  my  life,  I  have  never 
been  afraid  of  any  man  but  that  one !  He  was  the 
governor  of  my  brother,  who  died  afterward 
...  he  was  drowned.  And  a  Gipsy  has  foretold 
a  violent  death  for  me  also— but  that  is  nonsense. 

1  A  famous  monastery  in  the  outskirts  of  Moscow.— Translator. 

199 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

I  don't  believe  it.  Just  imagine  Ippolit  Sidoritch 
with  a  dagger ! " 

"  One  may  die  otherwise  than  by  a  dagger," — 
remarked  Sanin. 

"That's  all  nonsense!  Are  you  superstitious? 
I  'm  not — not  in  the  least.  But  what  is  to  be  can- 
not be  avoided.  Monsieur  Gaston  lived  in  our 
house,  over  my  head.  When  I  used  to  wake  up 
in  the  night,  I  could  hear  his  footsteps— he  went 
to  bed  very  late — and  my  heart  used  to  swoon 
with  emotion  ....  or  with  some  other  feeling. 
My  father  could  hardly  read  and  write  himself, 
but  he  gave  us  a  good  education.  Do  you  know, 
I  understand  Latin  ? " 

"You?    Latin?" 

"Yes— I.  Monsieur  Gaston  taught  me.  I 
read  the  iEneid  through  with  him.  It's  a  tire- 
some thing — but  there  are  nice  passages.  Do  you 
remember,  when  Dido  and  iEneas  in  the  for- 

\Zk>  l  •    •    ■    • 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"— said  Sanin  hastily. 
He  had  long  ago  forgotten  all  his  Latin,  and  had 
but  a  faint  conception  of  the  j?Eneid. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  looked  at  him,  according 
to  her  wont,  somewhat  askance,  and  from 
below  upward.— "But  you  must  not  think 
that  I  am  very  learned.  Akh!  good  heavens, 
no — I  'm  not  learned,  and  I  have  no  talents. 
I  hardly  know  how  to  write  ....  truly  I 
don't;  I  cannot  read  aloud;  I  can  neither  play 

200 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  piano,  nor  draw,  nor  embroider — noth- 
ing! That  's  what  I  'm  like— this  is  all  there  is 
tome!" 

She  threw  her  hands  apart. — "  I  am  telling  you 
all  this," — she  went  on, — "in  the  first  place,  to 
avoid  hearing  those  fools"  (she  pointed  at  the 
stage,  where,  at  that  moment,  instead  of  the  actor, 
an  actress  had  taken  up  the  howl,  with  her  elbows, 
also,  thrust  forward), — "  and,  in  the  second 
place,  because  I  am  in  your  debt;  you  told  me 
about  yourself  yesterday." 

"  You  were  good  enough  to  ask  me," — re- 
marked Sanin. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  suddenly  turned  toward 
him. — "And  you  do  not  care  to  know  what  sort 
of  a  woman  I  am?  But  I  am  not  surprised," — 
she  added,  leaning  back  once  more  against  the 
cushions  of  the  divan. — "  A  man  is  making  ready 
to  marry,  and  for  love  into  the  bargain,  and  after 
a  duel.  .  .  .  What  time  has  he  to  think  of  any- 
thing else?" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  grew  pensive,  and  began  to 
nibble  at  the  handle  of  her  fan,  with  her  large  but 
even  teeth,  as  white  as  milk. 

And  it  seemed  to  Sanin  that  again  there  began 
to  rise  up  in  his  brain  that  haze,  from  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  rid  himself— for  the  second 
day  now. 

The  conversation  between  him  and  Marya 
Nikolaevna  had  been  carried  on  in  an  undertone, 

201 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

almost  in  a  whisper — and  this  excited  and  agi- 
tated him  all  the  more.  .  .  . 

When  was  all  this  going  to  end? 

Weak  people  never  put  an  end  to  things  them- 
selves—they always  wait  for  the  end. 

Some  one  sneezed  on  the  stage:— the  sneeze 
had  been  introduced  into  the  play  by  the  author, 
as  a  "comic  moment,"  or  "element";  there  was 
no  other  comic  element  about  it,  as  a  matter  of 
course :  and  the  spectators  took  advantage  of  that 
moment  and  laughed. 

That  laugh  also  excited  Sanin. 

There  were  minutes  when  he  positively  did  not 
know  whether  he  were  angry  or  pleased,  bored 
or  merry.    Oh,  if  Gemma  could  have  seen  him ! 

"Really,  it  is  strange,"— said  Marya  Niko- 
laevna  suddenly.  "  A  man  announces  to  you, 
and  in  such  a  composed  voice :  *  I  'm  going  to 
marry ' ;  but  no  one  tells  you  composedly : 
*  I  'm  going  to  fling  myself  into  the  water.'  And 
yet— what  is  the  difference?  'T  is  strange, 
really." 

Vexation  seized  upon  Sanin. — "The  differ- 
ence is  great,  Marya  Nikolaevna !  Some  men  are 
not  in  the  least  afraid  to  throw  themselves  into 
the  water:  they  know  how  to  swim,  and,  in  addi- 
tion to  that  ...  so  far  as  the  strangeness  of 
marriages  is  concerned  ....  if  it  comes  to 
that  .... 

202 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  suddenly  ceased  speaking,  and  bit  his 
tongue. 

Mary  a  Nikolaevna  smote  the  palm  of  her  hand 
with  her  fan. 

'  Finish  your  sentence,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch, 
finish— I  know  what  you  meant  to  say.  'If  it 
comes  to  that,  my  dear  madam,  Marya  Niko- 
laevna Polozoff,'  you  meant  to  say,  '  nothing 
more  strange  than  your  marriage  can  be  im- 
agined .  .  .  for  I  know  your  husband  well,  from 
childhood.'  That  is  what  you  meant  to  say, — 
you  who  know  how  to  swim! " 

"Pray,"— Sanin  began  .... 

"  Is  n't  that  the  truth  ?  Is  n't  that  the  truth  ? " 
— articulated  Marya  Nikolaevna  pertinaciously. 
'  Come,  look  me  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  that  I 
have  not  spoken  the  truth! " 

Sanin  did  not  know  where  to  turn  his  eyes. — 
— "  Well,  as  you  like:  it  is  true,  if  you  insist  upon 
it,"  he  said  at  last. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  nodded  her  head. — "Ex- 
actly .  .  .  exactly.  Well— and  have  you  asked 
yourself,  you  who  know  how  to  swim,  what  can 
be  the  cause  of  so  strange  a  .  .  .  .  step,  on  the 
part  of  a  woman  who  is  not  poor  ...  or  stupid 
.  .  .  or  ugly?  Perhaps  that  does  not  interest 
you;  but  never  mind.  I  will  tell  you  the  reason, 
not  now,  but  as  soon  as  the  entr'acte  is  over.  I 
am  in  a  constant  fret  lest  some  one  should 
enter  .  .  .  .  " 

203 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Before  Mary  a  Nikolaevna  had  succeeded  in 
uttering  this  last  word,  the  outer  door  really  did 
open  half-way — and  into  the  box  there  was  thrust 
a  red,  greasily-perspiring  head,  still  young  but 
already  toothless,  with  long,  lank  hair,  a  pendent 
nose,  huge  ears,  like  those  of  a  bat,  with  gold 
spectacles  on  the  curious,  dull  little  eyes,  and  a 
pair  of  eyeglasses  on  top  of  the  spectacles.  The 
head  looked  around,  espied  Marya  Nikolaevna, 
grinned  abominably,  nodded.  ...  A  sinewy 
neck  was  outstretched  after  it.  .  .  . 

Marya  Nikolaevna  shook  her  handkerchief  at 
it. — "  I  'm  not  at  home!  Ich  bin  nicht  zu  House, 
II err  P.  .  .  /  Ich  bin  nicht  zu  Hause  .... 
Kshshsh,  kshshsh!" 

The  head  was  surprised,  laughed  in  a  con- 
strained way,  said,  with  a  sort  of  sob,  in  imitation 
of  Liszt,  at  whose  feet  it  had  once  fawned :  "  Sehr 
gut!  sehr  gut!'1 — and  vanished. 

"What  sort  of  a  creature  is  that?"  inquired 
Sanin. 

"That?  A  Wiesbaden  critic.  A  'litterateur,' 
or  valet  de  place,  whichever  you  please  to  call  it. 
He  is  hired  by  the  local  contractor,  and  therefore 
is  bound  to  praise  everything,  to  go  into  raptures 
over  everything ;  but  he  is  thoroughly  permeated 
with  nasty  gall,  which  he  does  not  dare  even  to 
discharge.  I  'm  afraid :  he 's  a  horrid  gossip ; 
he  '11  run  straight  off  and  tell  that  I  'm  in  the 
theatre.    Well,  I  don't  care." 

204 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  orchestra  finished  playing  a  waltz,  the  cur- 
tain rose  again.  .  .  The  contortions  and  whim- 
pering began  again  on  the  stage. 

"Well,  sir,"— began  Marya  Nikolaevna,  sink- 
ing down  on  the  divan  once  more — "as  long  as 
I  have  got  you  fast,  and  you  are  compelled  to  sit 
with  me,  instead  of  luxuriating  in  the  proximity 
of  your  betrothed  .  .  .  don't  roll  your  eyes,  and 
don't  get  angry— I  understand  you,  and  have  al- 
ready promised  you  that  I  will  dismiss  you  to 
complete  freedom— but  listen  now  to  my  confes- 
sion !  Would  you  like  to  know  what  I  love  most 
of  all?" 

"  Freedom,"  suggested  Sanin. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

'Yes,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch,"— she  said— and 
her  voice  rang  with  a  certain  peculiar,  indubita- 
bly genuine  solemnity — "freedom,  more  than 
all,  and  before  all  else.  And  you  are  not  to  think 
that  I  have  boasted  of  this — there  is  noth- 
ing laudable  about  it— only  it  is  so,  and 
always  has  been  and  always  will  be  so  for  me, 
even  to  my  death.  I  must  have  seen  a  great 
deal  of  slavery  in  my  childhood,  and  have 
suffered  much  from  it.  Well,  and  Mon- 
sieur Gaston,  my  teacher,  opened  my  eyes 
also.  Now,  perhaps,  you  will  understand  why 
I  married  Ippolit  Sidoritch:  with  him  I  am 
free,  perfectly  free,  as  free  as  the  air,  as  the 
breeze And    I    knew   that   before   the 

205 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

redding,  I  knew  that  with  him  I  should  be  a 
free  kazak!" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  ceased  speaking,  and  flung 
aside  her  fan. 

"I  will  tell  you  still  another  thing;  I  am  not 
averse  to  reflection  ....  it 's  cheerful,  and  that 's 
what  our  mind  was  given  us  for;  but  as  to  the 
consequences  of  what  I  do  myself,— I  never  re- 
flect, and  when  anything  happens,  I  don't  pity 
myself— not  even  so  much — it  isn't  worth  while! 

I  have  a  saying :  ' Cela  ne  tire  pas  a  consequence ' 
— I  don't  know  how  to  say  that  in  Russian.  And 
it  is  correct:  for  what  does  'tire  a  consequence?' 
— I  shall  not  be  called  to  account  here— on  this 
earth;  and  there — (she  pointed  her  finger  up- 
ward) — well,  there — let  them  arrange  matters  as 
they  like.    When  I  am  judged  there,  it  won't  be 

II  Are  you  listening  to  me?  You  are  not 
bored?" 

Sanin  was  sitting  bent  forward.  He  raised  his 
head. — "I  am  not  in  the  least  bored,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna, and  I  am  listening  to  you  with  curi- 
osity. Only  I  .  .  I  must  confess  ....  I  am 
asking  myself,  why  you  are  saying  all  this  to 
me?" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  moved  along  a  little  on  the 
divan. — "You  are  asking  yourself.  .  .  .  Are  you 
so  dull  of  apprehension?    Or  so  modest? ' 

Sanin  raised  his  head  still  higher. 

"  I  am  saying  all  this  to  you,"— pursued  Marya 

206 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Nikolaevna,  in  a  calm  tone,  which,  however,  did 
not  entirely  conform  to  the  expression  of  her 
face, — "because  I  like  you  very  much  indeed; 
yes,  you  need  not  be  surprised,  I  am  not  jesting ; 
for  it  would  be  unpleasant  for  me  if,  after  having 
met  you,  you  should  cherish  a  disagreeable  im- 
pression of  me  ...  or  even  one  that  was  not  dis- 
agreeable—I  don't  mind  that,— but  an  incorrect 
one.  That  is  why  I  have  secluded  myself  here 
with  you,  and  am  remaining  alone  with  you,  and 
am  talking  so  frankly  to  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes, 
frankly.  I  am  not  lying.  And  observe,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch,  I  know  that  you  are  in  love  with  an- 
other woman,  that  you  are  making  ready  to 
marry  her.  .  .  .  But  do  justice  to  my  disinter- 
estedness! And  here  is  your  opportunity  to  say, 
in  your  turn  fCela  ne  tire  pas  a  consequence!"' 

She  laughed,  but  her  laughter  broke  off 
abruptly — and  she  remained  motionless,  as 
though  her  own  words  had  startled  her,  and  in 
her  eyes,  ordinarily  so  merry  and  audacious,  there 
was  a  flash  of  something  akin  to  timidity, — akin 
even  to  sadness. 

"The  serpent!  akh,  she  is  a  serpent!"  Sanin 
was  thinking  meanwhile ;  "  but  what  a  beautiful 
serpent ! " 

'Give  me  my  lorgnette,"— said  Marya  Niko- 
laevna, suddenly.  "  I  want  to  see  whether  that 
jeune  premiere  actually  is  so  homely.  Really, 
one  might  suppose  that  she  was  appointed  by  the 

207 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

management  with  a  moral  aim  in  view,  in  order 
that  the  young  men  might  not  be  too  much  fas- 
cinated." 

Sanin  handed  her  the  lorgnette,  and,  as  she 
took  it  from  him,  she  clasped  his  hand  swiftly  in 
both  her  hands. 

'  Please  don't  be  so  serious," — she  whispered, 
with  a  smile. — "Do  you  know  what?  no  one  can 
impose  any  fetters  on  me;  but  then,  I  impose  no 
fetters.  —  I  love  freedom,  and  recognise  no  ob- 
ligations— and  that  not  for  myself  alone.  But 
now,  stand  aside,  if  you  please,  and  let  us  listen 
to  the  play." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  turned  her  glasses  on  the 
stage — and  Sanin  began  to  look  in  that  direction 
also,  as  he  sat  by  her  side,  in  the  semi-darkness 
of  the  box,  and  inhaled — involuntarily  inhaled — 
the  warmth  and  fragrance  of  her  luxurious  body, 
and  as  involuntarily  turned  over  in  his  head 
everything  which  she  had  said  to  him  in  the  course 
of  the  evening— especially  in  the  course  of  the 
last  few  minutes. 

XL 

The  play  lasted  for  more  than  an  hour  longer, 
but  Marya  Nikolaevna  and  Sanin  speedily  ceased 
to  look  at  the  stage.  They  entered  into  conver- 
sation again,  and  that  conversation  slipped  into 
the  same  path  as  before;  only  this  time  Sanin 

208 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

was  less  taciturn.  Inwardly,  he  was  raging  at 
himself  and  at  Marya  Nikolaevna.  He  endea- 
voured to  demonstrate  to  her  the  utter  ground- 
lessness of  her  "  theory,"  as  though  she  cared  for 
theories !  He  began  to  dispute  with  her,  at  which 
she  secretly  rejoiced.  If  a  man  argues,  it  means 
that  he  is  yielding  or  will  yield.  He  has  swal- 
lowed the  bait,  he  is  surrendering,  he  has  ceased 
to  be  wild !  She  retorted,  laughed,  assented,  med- 
itated, attacked  .  .  .  and,  in  the  meantime,  his 
face  and  her  face  drew  nearer  together,  his  eyes 
were  no  longer  averted  from  her  eyes.  .  .  .  Those 
eyes  seemed  to  be  straying,  seemed  to  be  circling 
over  his  features,  and  he  smiled  at  her  in  response 
—politely,  but  he  smiled.  She  had  also  won  this 
much  ground,  that  he  entered  into  abstractions, 
argued  about  honour  in  mutual  relations,  about 
duty,  about  the  sanctity  of  love  and  marriage. 
....  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  these  abstrac- 
tions are  very,  very  useful  as  a  beginning  .... 
as  a  point  of  departure.  .  .  . 

People  who  knew  Marya  Nikolaevna  well  were 
wont  to  assert  that  when  a  certain  tender  and 
modest  something— a  something  which  was  al- 
most maidenly-bashful — suddenly  passed  over 
her  whole  strong  and  vigorous  being, — although 
you  might  wonder  whence  it  proceeded,  .  .  yet 
then  .  .  .  yes,  then,  affairs  were  taking  a  dan- 
gerous turn. 

They  were,  obviously,  taking  that  turn  for  Sa- 

209 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

nin.  .  .  .  He  would  have  felt  scorn  for  himself, 
had  he  succeeded,  even  for  one  moment,  in  con- 
centrating himself ;  but  he  did  not  succeed,  either 
in  concentrating  or  scorning  himself. 

And  she  lost  no  time.  And  it  all  came  about 
because  he  was  very  far  from  homely.  One  is,  in- 
voluntarily, compelled  to  say:  "How  are  you 
to  know  where  you  will  find,  where  you  will 
lose?  " 

The  play  came  to  an  end.  Marya  Nikolaevna 
asked  Sanin  to  throw  her  shawl  around  her,  and 
did  not  stir  while  he  was  wrapping  the  soft  fab- 
ric about  her  really  regal  shoulders.  Then  she 
took  his  arm,  emerged  into  the  corridor— and 
came  near  shrieking  aloud.  At  the  very  door  of 
the  box,  like  a  spectre,  stood  Donhof;  and  from 
behind  his  back  peeped  the  repulsive  figure 
of  the  Wiesbaden  critic.  The  face  of  this  "  liter- 
ary man"  was  fairly  beaming  with  malicious 
delight. 

"  Do  you  command  me  to  find  your  carriage, 
madame?"  said  the  young  officer,  addressing 
Marya  Nikolaevna,  with  the  quiver  of  badly- 
concealed  wrath  in  his  voice. 

"No,  thank  you,"— she  replied.  .  .  .  "My 
lackey  will  find  it.  Stay  here!"— she  added,  in 
an  imperious  whisper— and  swiftly  retreated, 
dragging  Sanin  along. 

"Go  to  the  devil!  Why  are  you  bothering 
me?"  Donhof  suddenly  roared  at  the  literary 

210 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

man.    He  was  forced  to  vent  his  spleen  on  some 
one. 

"  Sehr  gut!  sehr  gut!  "—mumbled  the  literary 
man — and  vanished. 

Marya  Nikolaevna's  lackey,  who  was  waiting 
for  her  in  the  vestibule,  found  her  carriage  in  an 
instant;  she  hastily  seated  herself  in  it,  Sanin 
sprang  in  after  her.  The  door  slammed — and 
Marya  Nikolaevna  broke  into  a  ringing  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  "—asked  Sanin. 

"Akh,  excuse  me,  pray  ....  but  an  idea 
came  into  my  head.  What  if  Donhof  were  to 
fight  another  duel  with  you  ....  about  me. 
....  Would  n't  that  be  splendid  ?  " 

"  And  are  you  very  intimately  acquainted  with 
him?  " — asked  Sanin. 

"With  him?  With  that  little  boy?  He 's  just 
one  of  my  errand-boys.  Don't  worry  about 
him!" 

"  Why,  I  'm  not  worrying  at  all." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  sighed.  — "  Akh,  I  know 
that  you  are  not  worrying.  But,  listen— do  you 
know  what  ?  you  are  so  nice,  you  ought  not  to  re- 
fuse me  one  last  request.  Don't  forget:  two 
days  hence  I  set  out  for  Paris,  and  you  will  re- 
turn to  Frankfurt.  .  .  .  When  shall  we  meet 
again ! 

"  What  is  your  request?  " 

"  You  can  ride  on  horseback,  of  course? " 

"  Yes." 

2X1 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Well,  then,  see  here.  To-morrow  morning 
I  will  take  you  with  me— and  we  will  ride  into 
the  suburbs  together.  We  shall  have  capital 
horses.  Then  we  will  return,  and  will  settle  our 
business — and  amen!  Do  not  be  surprised,  do 
not  tell  me  that  this  is  a  caprice,  that  I  am  crazy 
— all  that  may  be  true — but  say  merely:  '  I  con- 
sent! ' " 

Marya  Nikolaevna  turned  her  face  toward 
him.  It  was  dark  in  the  carriage,  but  her  eyes 
gleamed  even  in  that  gloom. 

"  Certainly,  I  consent,"— said  Sanin,  with  a 
sigh. 

"Akh!  You  sighed!" — Marya  Nikolaevna 
mocked  him.  '  That  is  what  is  meant  by:  You 
have  said  A — don't  refuse  to  say  B.  But,  no, 
no.  .  .  .  You  are  charming,  you  are  good — and 
I  will  keep  my  promise.  Here  is  my  hand  for 
you,  ungloved,  the  right,  the  business-like  hand. 
Take  it— and  trust  its  pressure.  What  sort  of 
a  woman  I  am,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  am  an  honest 
man — and  you  can  do  business  with  me." 

Sanin,  without  clearly  accounting  to  himself 
for  what  he  did,  raised  the  hand  to  his  lips.  Marya 
Nikolaevna  gently  withdrew  it — and  suddenly 
ceased  speaking,  and  maintained  silence  until  the 
carriage  came  to  a  halt. 

She  began  to  alight.  .  .  .  "What  's  that?' 
Was  it  merely  Sanin's  fancy,  or  did  he  really  feel 
on  his  cheek  a  swift  and  burning  touch? 

212 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Farewell  until  to-morrow!  "—whispered 
Marya  Nikolaevna  to  him  on  the  stairs,  all  illu- 
minated with  the  four  lights  of  the  candelabra, 
which  had  been  caught  up,  on  her  appearance,  by 
the  gilded  door-porter.  She  kept  her  eyes  down- 
cast. 

"  Until  to-morrow!  " 

When  he  reached  his  room,  Sanin  found  on  his 
table  a  letter  from  Gemma.  He  was  frightened 
....  for  a  moment — but  immediately  rejoiced, 
in  order  the  more  speedily  to  mask  his  own  fear 
to  himself. — It  consisted  of  a  few  lines.  —  She  was 
delighted  at  the  favourable  "  beginning  of  the 
affair,"  advised  him  to  be  patient,  and  added 
that  every  one  in  the  house  was  well,  and  was  re- 
joicing in  advance  over  his  return.  Sanin 
thought  this  letter  decidedly  curt ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, he  took  pen  and  paper— and  then  flung  all 
aside. — "  Why  write?  To-morrow  I  shall  return 
in  person  ....  't  is  time,  high  time! ' 

He  immediately  went  to  bed,  and  tried  to  get 
to  sleep  as  promptly  as  possible.  Had  he  re- 
mained up,  and  awake,  he  certainly  would  have 
begun  to  think  of  Gemma — but,  for  some  rea- 
son or  other  ....  he  was  ashamed  to  think  of 
her.  His  conscience  was  stirring  within  him. 
But  he  soothed  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
on  the  morrow  everything  would  be  over  forever, 
and  he  would  part  forever  from  that  giddy  fine 
lady— and  would  forget  all  that  nonsense!  .... 

213 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Weak  people,  when  they  talk  to  themselves, 
are  fond  of  using  energetic  expressions. 

"  Et  puis  ....  cela  ne  tire  pas  a  consequence! " 

XLI 

This  is  what  Sanin  was  thinking,  as  he  got  into 
bed.  But  what  he  thought  on  the  following  day, 
when  Marya  Nikolaevna  impatiently  tapped  on 
his  door  with  the  coral  handle  of  her  riding- whip ; 
when  he  beheld  her  on  the  threshold  of  his  cham- 
ber, with  the  train  of  her  dark-green  riding- 
habit  over  her  arm,  a  little  masculine  hat  on 
her  curls  plaited  in  heavy  braids,  her  veil  tossed 
over  her  shoulder,  and  with  a  tempting  smile  on 
her  lips,  in  her  eyes,  on  her  whole  face— as  to 
what  he  thought  then  history  holds  its  peace. 

"  Well?  Are  you  ready?  "—her  merry  voice 
resounded. 

Sanin  buttoned  his  coat,  and  silently  took  up 
his  hat.  Marya  Nikolaevna  darted  a  brilliant 
glance  at  him,  nodded  her  head,  and  ran  swiftly 
down  the  staircase.    And  he  ran  after  her. 

The  horses  were  already  standing  in  the  street, 
in  front  of  the  steps.  There  were  three  of  them. 
A  golden-bay,  pure-blooded  mare,  with  a  thin, 
grinning  muzzle,  black,  prominent  eyes,  with  the 
legs  of  a  deer,  rather  lean,  but  handsome  and 
mettlesome  as  fire, — for  Marya  Nikolaevna;  a 
powerful,  broad,  rather  heavily -built  horse,  black, 

214 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

without  marks, — for  Sanin;  the  third  horse  was 
destined  for  the  groom.  Marya  Nikolaevna 
leaped  agilely  on  her  mare.  .  .  The  latter 
pranced  and  curveted,  flirted  out  its  tail,  and 
elevated  its  crupper,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  (a 
capital  horsewoman!)  held  it  in  place.  She 
must  say  good-bye  to  Polozoff,  who,  in  his  inev- 
itable fez  and  with  dressing-gown  flying  open, 
made  his  appearance  on  the  balcony,  and  thence 
waved  a  batiste  handkerchief,  without  the  trace  of 
a  smile,  however,  but  frowning  rather.  Sanin 
mounted  also  on  his  horse.  Marya  Nikolaevna 
saluted  Mr.  Polozoff  with  her  whip,  then  lashed 
the  flat  arched  neck  of  her  steed  with  it;  the  lat- 
ter reared  on  its  hind  legs,  darted  forward,  and 
proceeded  in  a  prancing,  curveting  gait,  quiver- 
ing in  every  nerve,  champing  at  the  bit,  biting  the 
air,  and  snorting  violently.  Sanin  rode  behind, 
and  gazed  at  Marya  Nikolaevna.  Confidently, 
dexterously,  and  gracefully  swayed  her  lithe, 
slender  form,  closely  and  easily  confined  by  her 
corset.  She  turned  back  her  head,  and  sum- 
moned him  with  her  eyes.  He  rode  up  along- 
side of  her. 

"Well,  here  you  see  how  nice  it  is,"— said  she. 
"  I  am  talking  to  you  for  the  last  time  before  our 
parting!  You  are  a  dear!  and  you  shall  not  re- 
pent!" 

Having  uttered  these  last  words,  she  moved 
her  head  from  above  downward  several  times, 

215 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

as  though  desirous  of  confirming  them,  and  mak- 
ing him  feel  their  significance. 

She  seemed  happy  to  such  a  degree  that  Sanin 
was  simply  amazed.  A  certain  sedate  expression 
made  its  appearance  on  her  face— the  sort  of 
expression  which  children  wear  when  they  are 
very  ....  very  much  pleased. 

They  rode  at  a  foot-pace  to  the  barrier,  which 
was  not  far  distant,  and  there  set  out  at  a  rapid 
gallop  along  the  highway.  The  weather  was  glo- 
rious, real  summer  weather;  the  breeze  blew  in 
their  faces,  and  hummed  and  whistled  agreeably 
in  their  ears.  They  felt  well;  the  consciousness 
of  young,  healthy  life,  of  free,  rapid  movement 
ahead,  took  possession  of  both  of  them;  it  aug- 
mented with  every  moment. 

Mary  a  Nikolaevna  reined  in  her  horse,  and 
rode  at  a  walk;  Sanin  followed  her  example. 

"  There," — she  began,  with  a  deep,  blissful 
sigh;  "there,  life  is  worth  living  for  this  alone. 
When  one  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing  what 
he  wishes,  what  seemed  impossible — well,  then, 
soul,  profit  by  it  to  the  utmost!  "  She  passed  her 
hand  across  her  throat.  —  "And  how  amiable  a 
person  feels  then !  Here  am  I  now  .  .  how  ami- 
able I  am!  It  seems  as  though  I  could  embrace 
the  whole  world."— She  pointed  with  her  whip  at 
a  poorly-clad  old  man,  who  was  making  his  way 
along  on  one  side.  —  "I  'm  even  ready  to  make 
him  happy.  Here,  there,  you,  take  this,"— she 
cried    loudly,    in    German — flinging    her    purse 

216 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

at  his  feet.  The  ponderous  bag  (there  was  no 
such  thing  as  a  pocket-book  in  those  days)  clat- 
tered on  the  road.  The  passer-by  was  astonished, 
and  halted,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  burst  out 
laughing,  and  set  her  horse  to  galloping. 

'  Does  it  make  you  so  merry  to  ride  on  horse- 
back? "  asked  Sanin,  as  he  overtook  her. 

Again  Marya  Nikolaevna  reined  in  her  horse 
until  it  rested  on  its  hind  quarters.  She  never 
stopped  it  in  any  other  way.  —  "  I  only  wished 
to  escape  gratitude.  He  who  thanks  me  spoils 
my  happiness.  I  did  n't  do  it  for  his  sake,  you 
see,  but  for  my  own.  And  how  could  he  dare  to 
thank  me?  I  did  not  hear  exactly  what  you 
asked  me? " 

'  I  asked  ...  I  wanted  to  know  why  you  are 
so  merry  to-day? " 

'  Do  you  know  what," — said  Marya  Nikola- 
evna: she  either  did  not  hear  what  Sanin  said, 
or  else  she  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  an- 
swer his  question.  — "  I  'm  frightfully  tired  of 
that  groom,  who  is  sticking  up  there  behind  us, 
and  who  must  be  thinking  only  about  when  '  the 
masters '  will  go  home.  How  shall  we  get  rid  of 
him?  "  —  She  hastily  drew  from  her  pocket  a  lit- 
tle note-book. — "  Shall  I  send  him  to  town  with 
a  letter?  No  ....  that  won't  do.  Ah,  I  have 
it!  What  's  that  ahead  of  us?  A  restaurant?  "  . 
Sanin  looked  in  the  direction  she  indicated. — 
"  Yes,  it  is  a  restaurant,  apparently." 

'  Well,  very  good,  indeed.    I  will  order  him  to 

217 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

remain  at  that  restaurant,  and  drink  beer,  until 
we  return." 

"But  what  will  he  think?" 

"  What  business  is  that  of  ours?  But  he  will 
not  think;  he  will  drink  beer— that  's  all.  Come, 
Sanin  "  (she  addressed  him  by  his  surname  for  the 
first  time)  — "  advance— at  a  trot!  " 

On  coming  opposite  the  restaurant,  Marya 
Nikolaevna  called  up  the  groom,  and  informed 
him  of  what  she  required  of  him.  The  groom, 
a  man  of  English  extraction  and  English  tem- 
perament, silently  lifted  his  hand  to  the  visor  of 
his  cap,  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  took  it  by  the 
bridle. 

"  Well,  now  we  are  free  as  birds!  " — exclaimed 
Marya  Nikolaevna.—"  Where  shall  we  go? — 
north,  south,  east,  or  west?  See, — I  do  like  the 
King  of  Hungary  at  his  coronation '  (she 
pointed  with  her  whip  at  all  four  quarters  of 
the  globe).— "All  is  ours!  No,  do  you  know 
what :  see,  what  glorious  mountains  there  are  yon- 
der— and  what  a  forest!  Let  us  ride  thither,  to 
the  hills,  to  the  hills ! 

In  die  Berge,  wo  die  Freiheit  thront !  " 

She  turned  out  of  the  highway,  and  galloped 
along  a  narrow,  unbeaten  road,  which  appeared 
to  lead  directly  to  the  mountains.  Sanin  gal- 
loped after  her. 

218 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XLII 

This  road  soon  became  a  path,  and  at  last  disap- 
peared entirely,  intercepted  by  a  ditch.  Sanin 
advised  return,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  said: 
"No!  I  want  to  go  to  the  mountains!  Let  us 
ride  straight  as  the  birds  fly  .  .  ."—and  made  her 
horse  leap  the  ditch.  Sanin  also  leaped  it.  Be- 
yond the  ditch  began  a  meadow,  at  first  dry,  then 
wet,  then,  at  last,  a  regular  marsh ;  the  water  was 
seeping  through  everywhere,  and  stood  in  pools. 
Marya  Nikolaevna  sent  her  horse  deliberately 
across  the  pools,  laughed  loudly,  and  kept  reiter- 
ating: "Let's  frolic  like  school-children!" 

"Do  you  know,"— she  asked  Sanin,— "the 
meaning  of  the  expression:  '  puddle-hunting '? " ! 

"  I  do,"  replied  Sanin. 

"My  uncle  was  a  huntsman,"— she  went  on. 
"  I  used  to  ride  with  him  in  the  spring.  It  was 
splendid!  Just  like  you  and  I  now — ah,  the  pud- 
dles! I  see  you  are  a  Russian  man,  but  you 
want  to  marry  an  Italian.  Well,  that  's  your 
affliction.    What's  that?   Another  ditch ?   Hop!" 

The  horse  leaped— but  Marya  Nikolaevna's 
hat  fell  from  her  head,  and  her  curls  showered 
down  over  her  shoulders.  Sanin  was  on  the  point 
of  slipping  off  his  horse,  and  picking  up  the  hat; 
but  she  shouted  at  him:  "  Don't  touch  it;  I  '11  get 

1  The  first  spring  thaw.— Translator. 

219 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

it  myself!'  bent  low  in  her  saddle,  hooked  the 
handle  of  her  whip  into  the  veil,  and,  in  fact,  did 
get  the  hat,  and  put  it  on  her  head,  but  without 
gathering  lip  her  hair,  dashed  headlong  onward 
once  more,  and  even  whooped.  Sanin  dashed 
along  by  her  side,  leaped  over  gullies,  fences, 
brooks,  tumbling  in  and  scrambling  out,  racing 
down  hill,  racing  up  hill,  and  gazing  ever  in  her 
face.  What  a  face !  It  seemed  to  be  all  open ;  the 
eyes  were  open,  greedy,  bright,  wild;  the  lips, 
the  nostrils  were  open  also,  and  breathed  eagerly ; 
she  stared  straight  and  intently  in  front  of  her, 
and,  apparently,  that  soul  wanted  to  take  pos- 
session of  everything  she  beheld,  the  earth,  the 
sky,  the  sun,  and  the  very  air  itself,  and  grieved 
over  one  thing  only:  there  were  too  few  dangers 
—it  would  have  overcome  them  all!  "Sanin!" 
—she  cried,  "this  is  in  Burger's  'Lenore!' 
Only,  you  are  not  dead— are  you?  You  are 
not  dead?  .  .  ,  I  'm  alive!"  Her  power  of  dar- 
ing had  begun  to  come  into  action.  She  was  no 
longer  a  woman-rider,  setting  her  horse  at  a  gal- 
lop—she was  a  young  female  centaur— half- 
beast,  half -goddess— who  was  galloping  there— 
and  the  sedate  and  well-trained  country,  trampled 
upon  by  her  stormy  debauch,  stood  amazed. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  at  last  drew  up  her  foam- 
ing, bespattered  horse ;  it  was  staggering  beneath 
her,  and  Sanin's  powerful  but  heavy  stallion  was 
out  of  breath. 

220 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Well?  Is  it  pleasant?"  asked  Marya  Niko- 
laevna, in  a  wonderful  sort  of  whisper. 

"  Yes!  "—responded  Sanin,  enthusiastically. 
And  his  blood  blazed  up  within  him. 

"  Wait,  there 's  more  to  come !  "—She  stretched 
out  her  hand.    The  glove  on  it  was  rent. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  would  lead  you  to  the  forest, 
to  the  mountains  .  .  .  there  they  are,  the  moun- 
tains!"—In  fact,  the  mountains,  covered  with 
lofty  forest,  began  a  couple  of  hundred  paces 
from  the  spot  to  which  the  wild  riders  had  flown. 
— "  Look,  yonder  is  the  road,  too.  Let  us  set 
out— and  forward!  But  at  a  walk.  We  must 
give  the  horses  a  rest." 

They  rode  on.  With  one  powerful  sweep  of 
the  hand,  Marya  Nikolaevna  tossed  back  her  hair. 
Then  she  looked  at  her  gloves— and  took  them 
off.  '  My  hands  will  smell  of  the  leather,"— she 
said,  'but  you  don't  mind  that,  I  hope?  Do 
you?'  ....  Marya  Nikolaevna  smiled,  and 
Sanin  smiled  also.  That  mad  ride  of  theirs 
seemed  to  have  definitively  brought  them  close 
together,  and  made  them  friends. 

'How  old  are  you?"— she  suddenly  inquired. 
-  "  Twentv-two." 

'Is  it  possible?  I  am  also  twenty-two.  It 
is  a  good  age.  Add  our  ages  together,  and  even 
then  the  sum  will  be  far  removed  from  old  age. 
But  how  hot  it  is!    Is  my  face  red? " 

"  As  a  poppy." 

221 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Marya  Nikolaevna  wiped  her  face  with  her 
handkerchief. — "  If  we  can  but  reach  the  forest, 
it  will  be  cool  there.  Such  an  old  forest  is  just 
like  an  old  friend.    Have  you  friends  ? ' 

Sanin  reflected  a  little. — "  Yes  .  .  .  only,  not 
many.    No  real  ones." 

"But  I  have  some,  real  friends,  only  not  old 
ones.  Here  's  a  friend,  also — a  horse.  How 
carefully  it  carries  one!  Akh,  it  is  capital  here! 
Is  it  possible  that  I  shall  set  out  for  Paris  the  day 
after  to-morrow? " 

"Yes  ...  is  it  possible?" — chimed  in  Sanin. 

"  And  are  you  going  to  Frankfurt? " 

"  It  is  imperatively  necessary  that  I  should  go 
to  Frankfurt." 

"Well,  never  mind  ....  good  luck  to  you! 
But  to-day  is  ours  ....  ours  ....  ours!" 

The  horses  reached  the  border  of  the  forest,  and 
entered  it.  The  shadow  of  the  forest  enveloped 
them  broadly  and  softly  on  all  sides. 

"  Oh,  yes,  this  is  paradise!  "—exclaimed  Marya 
Nikolaevna.  "  Deeper,  further  into  the  shade, 
Sanin! " 

The  horses  moved  on,  "  deeper  into  the  shade," 
reeling  slightly,  and  snorting.  The  path  wherein 
they  trod  suddenly  made  a  turn  to  one  side,  and 
plunged  into  a  rather  narrow  gorge.  The  scent 
of  the  young  birch-trees,  of  ferns,  of  pine-resin, 
of  rank  rotting  foliage  from  the  preceding  year, 

222 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

seemed  to  be  shut  up  within  it— dense  and 
dreamy.  From  the  crevices  of  the  huge,  dark- 
brown  rocks  emanated  a  robust  coolness.  On 
both  sides  of  the  path  rose  round  mounds  over- 
grown with  green  moss. 

"  Stop!  "—cried  Marya  Nikolaevna.  "  I  want 
to  sit  down  and  rest  on  this  velvet.  Help  me  to 
dismount." 

Sanin  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  ran  to  her. 
She  leaned  on  his  shoulders,  sprang  instantly  to 
the  ground,  and  seated  herself  on  one  of  the 
mossy  mounds.  He  stood  in  front  of  her,  hold- 
ing the  bridles  of  both  horses  in  his  hands. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  ..."  Sanin,  can 
you  forget? " 

Sanin  recalled  what  had  happened  the  night 
before  ....  in  the  carriage:— "  What  is  that— 
a  question  ....  or  a  reproach?  " 

"  I  have  never  reproached  any  one  for  any- 
thing in  my  life.  But  do  you  believe  in  love- 
charms?  " 

"What?" 

"In  love-charms— you  know;  what  is  referred 
to  in  our  songs.  In  the  popular  Russian  bal- 
lads." 

"  Ah!  That 's  what  you  are  talking  about . . ." 
drawled  Sanin. 

"  Yes,  about  that.  I  believe  in  that  ....  and 
do  you?" 

"  Love-charms  ....  witchcraft .  .  .  ."  repeated 

223 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Sanin.  "  Everything  is  possible  in  this  world.  I 
did  not  use  to  believe  in  it— now  I  do.  I  don't 
recognise  myself." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  pondered,  and  glanced 
about  her. — "  It  strikes  me  that  I  know  this  spot. 
Look  behind  that  spreading  oak,  Sanin,  and  see 
whether  a  red  wooden  cross  stands  there,  or  not." 

Sanin  stepped  a  few  paces  to  one  side.—"  Yes, 
it  is  there." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  smiled. — "Ah,  good!  I 
know  where  we  are.  We  are  not  lost  yet.  What 
is  that  tapping?    A  wood-cutter?  " 

Sanin  peered  into  the  thicket. — "  Yes  .... 
Yonder  is  some  man  chopping  dry  branches." 

"  I  must  put  my  hair  in  order,"— said  Marya 
Nikolaevna.—"  If  I  don't,  and  am  seen,  I  shall 
be  censured."  She  took  off  her  hat,  and  began 
to  plait  her  long  tresses.  Sanin  stood  in  front 
of  her.  .  .  .  Her  graceful  limbs  were  clearly  de- 
fined under  the  dark  folds  of  cloth,  to  which,  here 
and  there,  filaments  of  moss  adhered. 

One  of  the  horses  suddenly  shook  itself  behind 
Sanin;  he  himself  involuntarily  trembled  from 
head  to  foot.  Everything  in  him  was  in  utter 
confusion — his  nerves  were  tense  as  guitar- 
strings.  '  Truly  had  he  said  that  he  did  not  know 
himself.  .  .  .  He  really  was  bewitched.  His 
whole  being  was  full  of  one  ....  one  thought, 
one  desire.  Marya  Nikolaevna  darted  a  piercing 
glance  at  him.    "  Now,  then,  everything  is  as  it 

224 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

should    be," — she    said,    putting    on    her    hat. 
'  Won't  you  sit  down  ?    Yonder !    No ;  wait .... 
don't  sit  down.    What  's  that?  " 

Through  the  crests  of  the  trees,  through  the 
air  of  the  forest,  rolled  a  dull  vibration. 

"  Can  that  be  thunder?  " 
'  Apparently,  it  is  thunder,"— replied  Sanin. 

"  Akh,  yes,  this  is  a  feast-day!  simply  a  feast- 
day!  That  was  the  only  thing  that  was  lack- 
ing!"—A  dull  roar  resounded  once  again, 
rose— and  fell  in  a  peal. — "  Bravo!  Bis!  Do 
you  remember  I  was  telling  you  last  night  about 
the  iEneid?  The  thunder  caught  them  in  the 
forest  also,  you  know.  But  we  must  go." — She 
rose  hastily  to  her  feet. — "Lead  up  my  horse. 
.  .  .  Hold  out  your  hand.  That  's  it.  I  am 
not  heavy." 

She  soared  into  her  saddle  like  a  bird.  Sanin 
also  mounted  his  horse. 

'  Are  you  going  home?  " — he  asked,  in  an  un- 
steady voice. 

'Yes— home!!"  she  replied,  slowly,  gath- 
ering up  her  reins.  —  "Follow  me," — she  com- 
manded, almost  roughly. 

She  rode  out  upon  the  road,  and  passing  the 
red  cross,  descended  into  a  hollow,  reached  the 
cross-roads,  turned  to  the  right,  and  began  again 
to  ascend.  .  . .  She  evidently  knewwhither  the  road 
led—and  the  road  led  deeper,  ever  deeper,  into 
the  fastnesses  of  the  forest.     She  said  nothing, 

225 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  did  not  look  behind  her;  she  moved  on  impe- 
riously in  advance— and  he  followed  her  obedi- 
ently and  meekly,  without  a  shadow  of  will  in  his 
sinking  heart.  A  fine  rain  began  to  drizzle  down. 
She  hastened  the  gait  of  her  horse,  and  he  kept 
up  with  her.  At  last,  athwart  the  dark  verdure 
of  the  fir-shrubs,  from  beneath  a  projection  of  a 
grey  cliff,  there  peeped  out  at  him  a  wretched 
watchman's  hut,  with  a  low-browed  door  in  the 
wattled  wall.  .  .  .  Marya  Nikolaevna  made  her 
horse  force  its  way  through  the  bushes,  sprang 
off — and,  finding  herself  suddenly  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  hut,  she  turned  to  Sanin— and 
whispered :  "  iEneas ! " 

Four  hours  later,  Marya  Nikolaevna  and  Sanin, 
accompanied  by  the  groom,  who  was  dozing  in  his 
saddle,  returned  to  Wiesbaden,  to  the  hotel.  Mr. 
Polozoff  met  his  wife,  holding  in  his  hands  the 
letter  to  the  steward.  But  after  having  scruti- 
nised her  more  attentively,  he  expressed  on  his 
countenance  a  certain  dissatisfaction— and  even 
muttered:— "  Can  it  be  that  I  have  lost  my 
wager?  " 

Marya  Nikolaevna  merely  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. 

And  on  that  same  day,  two  hours  later,  Sanin 
stood  before  her,  in  his  own  room,  like  a  dis- 
tracted, a  ruined  man.  .  .  . 

226 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


<< 


Whither  art  thou  going?  "—she  asked  him. 
To  Paris,  or  to  Frankfurt?  " 

I  am  going  where  thou  wilt  be— and  I  shall 
be  with  thee,  until  thou  drivest  me  away," — he  re- 
plied, with  despair,  and  fell  to  kissing  the  hands 
of  his  sovereign.  She  released  them,  laid  them  on 
his  head— and  grasped  his  hair  with  all  ten  fin- 
gers. She  slowly  drew  her  fingers  through  and 
twisted  that  unresisting  hair,  and  drew  herself  up 
to  her  full  height:  triumph  curled  serpent -like 
about  her  lips,  and  her  eyes,  wide,  and  bright  to 
whiteness,  expressed  only  the  pitiless  stolidity  and 
satiety  of  victory.  The  hawk  which  is  clawing 
a  captured  bird  has  such  eyes. 

XLIII 

That  was  what  Dmitry  Sanin  recalled,  when, 
in  the  silence  of  his  study,  as  he  rummaged 
among  his  old  papers,  he  found  with  them  the 
little  garnet  cross.  The  events  which  we  have 
narrated  rose  clearly  and  in  their  proper  order 
before  his  mental  vision.  .  .  .  But  on  arriving 
at  the  minute  when  he  turned  with  such  a  humil- 
iating entreaty  to  Madame  Polozoff,  when  he 
threw  himself  in  self -surrender  beneath  her  feet, 
when  his  servitude  began,— he  turned  away  from 
the  images  which  he  had  evoked,  he  did  not  wish 
to  recall  anything  further.  Not  that  his  mem- 
ory had  played  him   false — oh,   no!   he  knew, 

227 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  knew  but  too  well,  what  had  followed  that 
minute,  but  shame  stifled  him;  even  now,  so 
many  years  afterward,  he  was  frightened  by 
the  feeling  of  invincible  scorn  for  himself,  which 
would,  inevitably,— of  that  he  could  have  no 
doubt — surge  in  upon  him  and  drown,  like  a 
flood,  all  other  sensations,  the  moment  he  should 
cease  to  bid  his  memory  to  hold  its  peace.  But 
turn  away  as  he  would  from  the  rising  memories, 
he  could  not  wholly  stifle  them.  He  remembered 
the  abominable,  tearful,  lying,  pitiful  letter 
which  he  had  despatched  to  Gemma,  and  which 
had  remained  unanswered.  .  .  .  Present  himself 
before  her,  return  to  her,  after  such  a  deception, 
after  such  treachery — no!  no!  he  had  enough  con- 
science and  honour  left  in  him  for  that.  More- 
over, he  had  lost  all  confidence  in  himself,  all 
respect  for  himself;  he  dared  not  vouch  for  any- 
thing. Sanin  also  recalled  how,  later  on,  he — oh, 
disgrace!— had  sent  Polozoff's  lackey  for  his 
things  in  Frankfurt,  how  cowardly  he  had  been, 
how  he  had  thought  only  of  one  thing:  to  go 
away  to  Paris  as  promptly  as  possible — to  Paris; 
how,  at  the  bidding  of  Marya  Nikolaevna,  he  had 
fawned  on  and  humoured  Ippolft  Sidoritch— and 
had  been  amiable  to  Donhof,  on  whose  finger  he 
noticed  precisely  the  same  sort  of  iron  ring  which 
Marya  Nikolaevna  had  given  to  him!  !  !  Then 
the  memories  became  still  worse,  still  more  shame- 
ful. ...  A   waiter  hands   him   a   visiting-card, 

228 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  on  it  stands  the  name  of  Pantaleone  Cippa- 
tola,  Court  Singer  to  his  Royal  Highness  the 
Duke  of  Modena!  He  hides  from  the  old  man, 
but  cannot  avoid  encountering  him  in  the  corri- 
dor— and  there  rises  up  before  him  the  incensed 
face,  beneath  the  upward-curling  grey  crest;  the 
aged  eyes  flame  like  coals  of  fire — and  menacing 
exclamations  and  curses:  " Maledizione!"  and 
even  terrible  words  become  audible :  "  Codardo! 
Infame  traditore!" — Sanin  screws  up  his  eyes, 
shakes  his  head,  turns  away  again  and  again — 
and  nevertheless,  he  beholds  himself  sitting  in 
the  travelling-carriage,  on  the  narrow  front  seat. 
....  On  the  back  seats,  the  comfortable  seats, 
sit  Marya  Nikolaevna  and  Ippolit  Sidoritch — 
four  horses  are  proceeding  at  a  brisk  trot  over  the 
pavements  of  Wiesbaden — to  Paris!  to  Paris! 
Ippolit  Sidoritch  is  eating  a  pear,  which  he, 
Sanin,  has  peeled,  and  Marya  Nikolaevna  is  look- 
ing at  him— and  laughing  with  that  sneering 
laugh  which  is  already  familiar  to  him,  the  en- 
slaved man, — the  sneering  laugh  of  a  sovereign 
owner.  .  .  . 

But,  oh,  my  God !  yonder,  at  the  corner  of  the 
street,  not  far  from  the  egress  from  the  town,  is 
not  that  Pantaleone  standing  there  again— and 
who  is  it  with  him?  Can  it  be  Emilio?  Yes,  't  is 
he,  that  enthusiastic,  devoted  lad!  Not  long  ago 
his  youthful  heart  was  worshipping  before  its 
hero,  its  ideal — but  now,  his  pale,  handsome  face 

229 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

— so  handsome  that  Mary  a  Nikolaevna  observed 
it,  and  even  thrust  her  head  out  of  the  carriage- 
window — his  noble  face  is  blazing  with  wrath 
and  scorn;  his  eyes — how  like  those  eyes!— are 
eagerly  riveted  upon  Sanin,  and  his  lips  are  com- 
pressed . . .  and  suddenly  open,  to  emit  insult .... 

And  Pantaleone  stretches  forth  his  hand,  and 
points  out  Sanin— to  whom?  to  Tartaglia,  who 
is  standing  by,  and  Tartaglia  barks  at  Sanin — 
and  the  very  bark  of  the  honest  dog  rings  out 
like  an  intolerable  affront.  .  .  .  'T  is  monstrous! 

And  then — that  sojourn  in  Paris — and  all  the 
humiliations,  all  the  loathsome  tortures  of  the 
slave,  who  is  not  permitted  to  be  jealous,  or  to 
complain,  and  who  is  finally  discarded,  like  a 
worn-out  garment.  .  .  . 

Then— the  return  to  his  native  land,  the  poi- 
soned, devastated  life,  the  petty  bustle,  the  petty 
cares,  repentance  bitter  and  fruitless— and  for- 
getfulness  equally  bitter  and  fruitless— a  pun- 
ishment not  evident,  but  incessant  and  of  every 
moment,  like  an  insignificant  but  incurable  pain, 
paying  off,  kopek  by  kopek,  a  debt  which  cannot 
be  calculated.  .  .  . 

The  cup  is  filled  to  overflowing— enough! 

How  had  the  little  cross,  given  to  Sanin  by 
Gemma,  escaped,  why  had  not  he  sent  it  back, 
how  had  it  happened  that,  until  that  day,  he  had 
never  even  once  come  across  it?    Long,  long  did 

230 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  sit  immersed  in  thought — and  already  taught 
by  experience,  in  the  course  of  all  those  years, 
he  still  was  not  able  to  comprehend  how  he  could 
have  abandoned  Gemma,  whom  he  so  tenderly 
and  passionately  loved,  for  a  woman  whom  he 
did  not  love  at  all!  .  .  .  On  the  following  day, 
he  astonished  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances: 
he  announced  to  them  that  he  was  going  abroad. 
The  surprise  extended  to  society.  Sanin  quit 
Petersburg  in  the  heart  of  winter,  after  having 
just  hired  and  furnished  a  capital  apartment, 
and  even  subscribed  to  the  performances  of  the 
Italian  opera,  in  which  Madame  Patti  herself — 
Madame  Patti  herself,  herself,  herself!— was 
taking  part!  His  friends  and  acquaintances 
were  puzzled.  But  people,  in  general,  do  not  oc- 
cupy themselves  for  long  with  other  people's  af- 
fairs, and  when  Sanin  set  out  for  foreign  parts, 
no  one  but  his  French  tailor  went  to  the  railway 
station  to  see  him  off — and  that  in  the  hope  of  re- 
ceiving payment  for  his  little  account — "  pour  un 
saute-en-barque  en  velours  noir,  tout  a  fait  chic" 

XLIV 

Sanin  had  told  his  friends  that  he  was  going 
abroad — but  he  had  not  told  them  precisely 
where.  The  reader  will  easily  divine  that  he  jour- 
neyed straight  to  Frankfurt.  Thanks  to  the 
universal  diffusion  of  railways,  he  was  in  Frank- 

231 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

furt  on  the  fourth  day  after  his  departure  from 
Petersburg.  He  had  not  visited  it  since  the  year 
1840.  The  "White  Swan"  inn  stood  on  its 
former  site,  although  it  was  no  longer  regarded 
as  first-class.  The  Zeil,  the  principal  thorough- 
fare of  Frankfurt,  had  undergone  little  altera- 
tion, but  not  only  was  there  no  trace  of  Signora 
Roselli's  house — the  very  street  in  which  her  con- 
fectionery shop  had  stood  had  disappeared.  Sa- 
nin  roamed  like  a  half-witted  person  about  the 
localities  which  he  had  once  known  so  well — and 
recognised  nothing;  the  former  buildings  had 
vanished;  they  had  been  superseded  by  new 
streets,  lined  with  huge,  close-set  houses,  with 
elegant  villas ;  even  the  public  park,  where  his  last 
explanation  with  Gemma  had  taken  place,  had 
grown  up  and  changed  to  such  an  extent  that 
Sanin  asked  himself — is  it  really  the  same  park? 
What  was  there  for  him  to  do  ?  How  and  where 
was  he  to  make  inquiries?  Thirty  years  had 
passed  since  then.  .  .  It  was  no  easy  affair !  No 
matter  to  whom  he  applied — no  one  had  even 
heard  the  name  of  Roselli.  The  landlord  of  the 
inn  counselled  him  to  make  inquiries  at  the  public 
library;  there  he  would  find  all  the  old  news- 
papers, but  what  advantage  he  would  derive 
therefrom  the  landlord  himself  could  not  ex- 
plain. Sanin,  in  despair,  inquired  about  Herr 
Kliiber.  That  name  was  well  known  to  the  land- 
lord,— but  here,  also,  he  was  unsuccessful.     The 

232 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

elegant  clerk,  after  having  made  considerable 
noise  in  the  world,  and  risen  to  the  vocation  of 
a  capitalist,  had  failed  in  business,  become  bank- 
rupt, and  died  in  jail.  .  .  .  This  news  did  not, 
however,  cause  Sanin  the  slightest  pain.  He  had 
already  begun  to  regard  his  trip  as  rather  fool- 
ish ....  but,  lo,  one  day,  as  he  was  turning 
over  the  Frankfurt  directory,  he  came  upon  the 
name  of  von  Donhof,  retired  major  (Major 
a.  D.).  He  immediately  summoned  a  carriage, 
and  drove  to  him — although  why  should  this  von 
Donhof,  infallibly,  be  that  von  Donhof,  and  why 
even  should  that  von  Donhof  be  able  to  impart 
to  him  any  news  about  the  Roselli  family? 
Never  mind ;  a  drowning  man  clutches  at  a  straw. 
Sanin  found  the  retired  Major  von  Donhof 
at  home — and  in  the  grizzled  gentleman  who  re- 
ceived him,  he  immediately  recognised  his  former 
antagonist.  And  the  latter  recognised  him,  and 
even  rejoiced  at  his  appearance.  It  reminded 
him  of  his  youth — and  his  youthful  pranks.  Sa- 
nin heard  from  him  that  the  Roselli  family  had, 
long  since,  emigrated  to  America,  to  New  York ; 
that  Gemma  had  married  a  merchant;  that  he, 
Donhof,  moreover,  had  an  acquaintance,  who  was 
also  a  merchant,  who  probably  knew  the  hus- 
band's address,  as  he  had  large  dealings  with 
America.  Sanin  asked  Donhof  to  go  to  that  ac- 
quaintance—and—oh, joy!— Donhof  brought 
him  the  address  of  Gemma's  husband,  Mr.  Jere- 

233 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

miah  Slocum,  No.  501  Broadway,  New  York.— 
Only,  the  address  was  of  the  year  1863. 

"  Let  us  hope," — exclaimed  Donhof, — "  that 
our  former  Frankfurt  beauty  is  still  alive,  and 
has  not  left  New  York!  By  the  way," — he 
added,  lowering  his  voice,  "  and  how  about  that 
Russian  lady  who  was  then  staying  in  Wiesbaden, 
you  remember— Madame  von  Bo  ....  von 
Bolozoff — is  she  still  alive?" 

" No,"— replied  Sanin,— "she  died  long  ago." 
Donhof  raised  his  eyes— but,  perceiving  that 
Sanin  had  turned  away,  and  was  frowning, — he 
did  not  add  another  word — and  withdrew. 

That  very  day  Sanin  despatched  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Gemma  Slocum,  in  New  York.  In  the  letter,  he 
told  her  that  he  was  writing  from  Frankfurt, 
whither  he  had  come,  solely  with  the  object  of 
looking  her  up;  that  he  was  fully  conscious  to 
what  a  degree  he  was  destitute  of  every  right 
to  a  reply  from  her;  that  he  in  no  way  deserved 
her  forgiveness— and  only  hoped  that  she,  amid 
the  happy  environment  in  which  she  found 
herself,  had  long  since  forgotten  his  very  exis- 
tence. He  added  that  he  had  decided  to  recall 
himself  to  her  memory,  in  consequence  of  an  ac- 
cidental occurrence,  which  had  aroused  too  viv- 
idly in  him  the  images  of  the  past;  he  told  her 
the  story  of  his  life,  solitary,  without  family,  joy- 
less; he  adjured  her  to  understand  the  causes 

234 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

which  had  impelled  him  to  address  himself  to  her, 
not  to  allow  him  to  carry  with  him  into  the  grave 
the  painful  consciousness  of  his  fault — long  since 
atoned  for  by  suffering,  but  not  forgiven — and  to 
make  him  glad  if  only  with  the  briefest  infor- 
mation as  to  what  her  life  was  like  in  that  New 
World,  whither  she  had  removed.  "  By  writing 
me  even  a  single  word,"— thus  did  Sanin  wind 
up  his  letter, — "  you  will  be  doing  a  good  deed, 
worthy  of  your  beautiful  soul, — and  I  shall  thank 
you  until  my  last  breath.  I  am  stopping  here  at 
the  White  Swan  inn "  (he  underlined  these 
words)  "  and  shall  wait, — wait  until  spring  for 
your  reply." 

He  sent  off  this  letter, — and  settled  down  to 
wait.  Six  whole  weeks  did  he  live  in  the  inn, 
hardly  going  outside  of  his  room,  and  seeing 
absolutely  no  one.  No  one  could  write  to  him 
from  Russia,  or  from  anywhere  else;  and  that 
was  to  his  taste ;  if  a  letter  were  to  come  addressed 
to  him,  he  would  know  at  once  that  it  was  it— 
the  one  for  which  he  was  waiting.  He  read  from 
morning  until  night— and  not  newspapers,  but 
serious  books,  historical  works.  This  prolonged 
course  of  reading,  this  mute  stillness,  this  snail- 
like, hidden  existence — were  all  exactly  suited  to 
his  spiritual  mood;  and  for  this  alone,  thanks  to 
Gemma!    But  was  she  alive?  Would  she  answer? 

At  last  a  letter  arrived— bearing  an  American 
stamp — from  New  York,  addressed  to  him.    The 

235 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

handwriting  of  the  address  on  the  envelope  was 
English.  .  .  .  He  did  not  recognise  it,  and  his 
heart  contracted.  He  could  not  at  once  make 
up  his  mind  to  break  open  the  packet.  He 
glanced  at  the  signature:  "  Gemma!"  The  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes.  The  mere  fact  that  she 
had  signed  with  her  name,  omitting  her  sur- 
name, served  him  as  a  pledge  of  reconciliation, 
of  pardon !  He  spread  out  the  thin  sheet  of  note- 
paper — a  photograph  slipped  from  it.  He  has- 
tily picked  it  up — and  was  fairly  dumfounded: 
Gemma,  the  living  Gemma,  as  young  as  he  had 
known  her  thirty  years  ago!  The  selfsame  eyes, 
the  selfsame  lips,  the  same  type  of  the  whole 
face!  On  the  back  of  the  photograph  was  writ- 
ten: "  My  daughter  Marianna."  The  whole  let- 
ter was  very  simple  and  affectionate.  Gemma 
thanked  Sanin  for  not  having  hesitated  to  ad- 
dress her,  for  having  had  faith  in  her.  She  did 
not  conceal  from  him,  either,  the  fact  that  she 
really  had  lived  through  painful  moments  after 
his  flight,  but  she  immediately  added  that,  never- 
theless, she  regarded — and  always  had  regarded 
— her  meeting  with  him  as  a  happiness — since  that 
meeting  had  prevented  her  becoming  the  wife 
of  Herr  Kliiber — and  so,  although  indirectly, 
it  had  been  the  cause  of  her  marriage  to  her  pres- 
ent husband,  with  whom  she  was  now  living  for 
the  eight-and-twentieth  year,  in  complete  f  elicit}^, 
in  comfort  and  luxury.    Their  house  was  known 

236 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  all  New  York.  Gemma  informed  Sanin  that 
she  had  five  children— four  sons  and  one  daugh- 
ter, a  girl  of  eighteen,  engaged  to  be  married, 
whose  photograph  she  sent  him — as  she,  accord- 
ing to  universal  opinion,  greatly  resembled  her 
mother.  Gemma  kept  her  sad  news  for  the  end 
of  her  letter.  Frau  Lenore  had  died  in  New 
York,  whither  she  had  followed  her  daughter  and 
son-in-law — but  had  been  able  to  rejoice  in  their 
happiness,  and  dandle  her  grandchildren  on  her 
knee.  Pantaleone  had  also  prepared  to  go  to 
America,  but  had  died  just  before  he  was  to  have 
left  Frankfurt.  "And  Emilio — our  dear,  incom- 
parable Emilio— died  a  glorious  death  for  the 
freedom  of  his  native  land,  in  Sicily,  whither  he 
went  among  that  '  Thousand  '  who  were  led  by 
the  great  Garibaldi;  we  all  fervently  lamented 
the  death  of  our  inestimable  brother;  but  even 
as  we  wept,  we  were  proud  of  him — and  shall  al- 
ways be  proud  of  him  and  hold  his  memory  sa- 
cred !  His  lofty,  unselfish  soul  was  worthy  of  the 
martyr's  crown!"  Then  Gemma  expressed  her 
regret  that  Sanin's  life  had— apparently— fallen 
into  such  unpleasant  places,  wished  him  first  of 
all  solace  and  spiritual  tranquillity,  and  said  that 
she  should  be  glad  to  see  him  again — although 
she  was  aware  that  such  a  meeting  was  hardly 
probable.  .  .  . 

We  will  not  undertake  to  depict  the  sensations 
experienced  by  Sanin,  on  perusing  this  letter. 

237 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

There  is  no  satisfactory  expression  for  such  feel- 
ings: they  are  deeper  and  more  sacred — and  more 
indefinite— than  any  word.  Music  alone  would 
be  competent  to  transmit  them. 

Sanin  replied  immediately— and  sent  as  a  gift 
to  the  bride— "To  Marianna  Slocum,  from  an 
unknown  friend  " — the  garnet  cross,  mounted 
on  a  magnificent  pearl  necklace.  This  gift,  al- 
though very  valuable,  did  not  ruin  him.  In  the 
course  of  the  thirty  years  which  had  elapsed  since 
his  first  sojourn  in  Frankfurt,  he  had  succeeded 
in  acquiring  a  considerable  fortune.  Early  in 
May  he  returned  to  Petersburg— but  probably 
not  for  long.  It  is  rumoured  that  he  is  selling 
off  all  his  property— and  making  ready  to  go  to 
America. 


238 


KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK 

A  STUDY 

(1870) 


KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK . . . 

A  STUDY 


WE  all  seated  ourselves  in  a  circle,  and  our 
good  friend  Alexander  Vasilievitch  Rie- 
del  (he  had  a  German  surname,  but  he  was  a  born 
and  bred  Russian)  began  as  follows: 

I  will  relate  to  you,  gentlemen,  an  incident 
which  happened  to  me  in  the  thirties  ....  forty 
years  ago,  as  you  see.  I  will  be  brief— and  you 
must  not  interrupt  me. 

I  was  living  in  Petersburg  at  the  time,  and  had 
only  just  come  out  of  the  university.  My  brother 
was  serving  in  the  horse-guard  artillery,  with  the 
rank  of  ensign.  His  battery  was  stationed  at 
Krasnoe  Selo,1— it  was  in  summer.  My  brother 
was  not  quartered  in  Krasnoe  Selo  proper,  but  in 
one  of  the  adjacent  hamlets.  I  was  his  guest 
more  than  once,  and  had  become  well  acquainted 
with  all  his  comrades.  He  was  lodged  in  a  fairly- 
clean  cottage  together  with  another  officer  be- 

1  Literally,  "  Red  Village,"  situated  sixteen  miles  from  St.  Peters- 
burg. A  summer  resort,  but  chiefly  known  as  the  site  of  the  great 
summer  camp  and  mancfeuvring-ground.— Translator. 

241 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

longing  to  his  battery.  This  officer's  name  was 
Tyegleff,  Ilya  Stepanitch.  I  became  particu- 
larly intimate  with  him. 

Marlinsky  has  become  old-fashioned  now;  no 
one  reads  him,  and  people  even  ridicule  him ;  but 
in  the  thirties  he  made  more  noise  than  any  one 
else,  and  Pushkin — according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
youth  of  that  period — could  not  be  compared 
with  him.  He  not  only  enjoyed  the  glory  of  be- 
ing the  leading  Russian  writer,  he  even  effected 
what  is  far  more  difficult,  and  more  rarely  en- 
countered— he  imprinted  his  stamp  upon  the  gen- 
eration contemporaneous  with  him.  Heroes  a 
la  Marlinsky  were  cropping  up  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  especially  among  army  and  artillery 
officers;  they  conversed  and  corresponded  in  his 
language;  in  society  they  maintained  a  gloomy, 
reticent  mien,  with  "  a  storm  in  the  soul,  and  a 
flame  in  the  blood,"  like  Lieutenant  Byelozor  of 
"  The  Frigate  Hope."  Female  hearts  were 
"  devoured  "  by  them.  The  epithet  "  fatal  "  was 
then  invented  for  them.  This  type,  as  every  one 
knows,  persisted  for  a  long  time,  until  the  date  of 
Petchorin.1  What  all  did  not  that  type  contain? 
Byronism  and  romanticism;  reminiscences  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  Decembrists2— and 

1  The  hero  of  LermontofTs  famous  novel  "A  Hero  of  Our  Times." 
— Translator. 

2  The  conspirators  who  made  trouble  on  the  accession  to  the 
throne  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  I,  in  December,  1825.  The  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  should  have  succeeded  his  brother  Alexander  I; 
but  he  renounced  the  succession  in  order  to  marry  a  Polish  woman. 

242 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

adoration  of  Napoleon.  Faith  in  Fate,  in  one's 
star,  in  the  force  of  character,  of  pose,  and  of 
phrase— and  the  anguish  of  futility;  the  dis- 
quieting agitations  of  petty  self-love— and  actual 
force  and  daring;  noble  aspirations,  and  bad 
bringing-up,  and  ignorance ;  aristocratic  manners 
— and  a  flaunting  of  toys.  .  .  But  enough  of 
philosophising!  ...  I  have  promised  to  narrate. 

II 

Sub-lieutenant  Tyegleff  belonged  precisely 
to  that  category  of  "  fatal "  men,  although  he  did 
not  possess  the  exterior  attributed  to  those  per- 
sons: for  example,  he  bore  not  the  slightest  re- 
semblance to  LermontofF's  "  fatalist."  He  was 
a  man  of  medium  height,  of  decidedly  thick-set 
build,  with  high  cheek-bones,  and  fair-haired, 
almost  tow-headed;  he  had  a  round,  fresh,  red- 
cheeked  face,  a  snub-nose,  a  low  forehead  over- 
grown with  hair  on  the  temples,  and  large,  regu- 
lar lips  which  were  eternally  motionless ;  he  never 
laughed  or  even  smiled.  Only  from  time  to  time, 
when  he  was  fatigued  and  heaved  a  sigh,  did  his 
square  teeth,  white  as  sugar,  become  visible.  The 
same  artificial  impassivity  was  spread  over  all 
his  features.    Had  it  not  been  for  that  they  would 

No  one  knew  of  this  renunciation  except  the  Dowager  Empress, 
Alexander  I,  and  Constantine.  Revolutionists  took  advantage  of 
the  muddle  arising  from  Nicholas's  ignorance  of  his  rights,  and  so 
forth.— Thanslatoh. 

243 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

have  revealed  themselves  as  good-natured.  The 
only  thing  about  his  whole  face  that  was  not  per- 
fectly ordinary  was  his  eyes,  which  were  not 
large,  and  had  greenish  pupils  and  yellow  eye- 
lashes. The  right  eye  was  a  trifle  higher  up 
than  the  left,  which  imparted  to  his  gaze  a 
certain  diversity,  strangeness,  and  drowsiness. 
Tyegleff's  physiognomy  was  not  devoid,  how- 
ever, of  a  certain  agreeability,  and  almost 
always  expressed  satisfaction  with  a  dash  of 
perplexity,  just  as  though  he  were  internally  pur- 
suing some  cheerless  thought  which  he  could  not 
possibly  catch.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  did 
not  produce  the  impression  of  an  arrogant  per- 
son: one  would  have  taken  him  for  a  wounded 
rather  than  a  haughty  man.  He  talked  very  lit- 
tle, falteringly,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  and  with  un- 
necessary repetitions  of  words.  Contrary  to  the 
majority  of  fatalists,  he  did  not  employ  pecu- 
liarly-whimsical expressions,  and  resorted  to 
them  only  in  writing:  he  had  a  thoroughly  child- 
ish chirography. 

The  authorities  regarded  him  as  a  "  so-so  "  offi- 
cer,— not  over-capable  and  not  sufficiently  zeal- 
ous. '  He  is  punctual  but  not  methodical,"  was 
what  was  said  of  him  by  the  general  in  command 
of  the  brigade— who  was  of  German  extraction.1 

. 

i  The  point  is,  that  he  used  mongrel  Russian  — foreign  words 
slightly  Russified  in  form:  "  punktualnost,"  and  "  accuratnost." — 
Translator. 

244 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 


And  for  the  soldiers,  also,  Tyegleff  was  "  so-so ' 
— neither  fish  nor  meat.  He  lived  modestly,  in 
accordance  with  his  means.  He  had  been  left  a 
full  orphan  at  the  age  of  nine  years:  his  father 
and  mother  had  been  drowned  in  the  spring,  in 
a  freshet,  as  they  were  crossing  the  Oka  on  a 
ferry-boat.  He  had  received  his  education  in  a 
private  boarding-school,  where  he  was  consid- 
ered one  of  the  very  stupidest  and  most  peace- 
able pupils.  He  had  entered  the  horse-guard 
artillery  at  his  own  importunate  desire,  and  on 
the  recommendation  of  his  great-uncle,  an  in- 
fluential man,  as  yiinker,  and  had  passed  the  ex- 
aminations—though with  difficulty— first  for 
ensign  and  then  for  sub-lieutenant.  His  rela- 
tions with  the  other  officers  were  strained.  They 
did  not  like  him  and  visited  him  rarely,  and  he 
went  to  hardly  any  one.  The  presence  of  stran- 
gers embarrassed  him;  he  immediately  became 
unnatural,  awkward  ....  there  was  no  comrade- 
ship in  him,  and  he  called  no  one  "  thou,"  and  was 
called  "  thou  "  by  no  one.  But  he  was  respected; 
and  men  respected  him  not  for  his  character  or 
his  brains  and  culture,  but  because  they  recog- 
nised in  him  that  special  seal  wherewith  "  fatal ' 
people  are  stamped.  "  Tyegleff  will  have  a  ca- 
reer; Tyegleff  will  distinguish  himself" — not 
one  of  his  comrades  expected  that;— but  "  Tyeg- 
leff will  cut  up  some  remarkable  caper,"  or 
"  Tyegleff  will  take  and  suddenly  turn  out  a 

245 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Napoleon  "—was  not  regarded  as  improbable. 
For  there  the  "  star  "  came  into  play,  and  he  was 
a  man  "  with  a  predestination " — as  there  are 
people  "  with  a  sigh  "  and  "  with  a  tear." 

Ill 

Two  incidents  which  marked  the  very  beginning 
of  his  service  as  an  officer  aided  greatly  in  firmly 
establishing  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  fate. 
Namely:  on  the  very  first  day  after  he  was  pro- 
moted—about the  middle  of  March— he  was 
walking  along  the  quay  in  full  uniform,  in  com- 
pany with  other  officers  who  had  just  been  re- 
leased from  examination.  That  year  spring  had 
come  early,  the  Neva  had  broken  up;  huge  floes 
of  ice  had  already  passed  down,  but  the  whole 
river  was  dammed  with  fine,  dense  ice  soaked  with 
water.  The  young  men  were  chatting  and  laugh- 
ing .  .  .  when  suddenly  one  of  them  stopped 
short;  he  had  descried  on  the  slowly-moving  sur- 
face of  the  river,  about  twenty  paces  from  the 
shore,  a  tiny  dog.  Having  clambered  upon  a 
projecting  block  of  ice,  it  was  trembling  all  over 
and  whining.  "  Why,  it  will  surely  perish,"— 
said  the  officer  through  his  teeth.  The  dog  was 
being  carried  slowly  past  one  of  the  descents  con- 
structed along  the  quay.  Suddenly  Tyegleff, 
without  saying  a  word,  ran  down  that  descent, 
and  leaping  along  over  the  thin  ice,  tumbling 

246 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

and  skipping,  he  reached  the  dog,  seized  it  by  its 
neck,  and,  having  regained  the  shore  in  safety, 
flung  it  on  the  pavement.  The  danger  to  which 
Tyegleff  had  exposed  himself  was  so  great,  his 
deed  had  been  so  unexpected,  that  his  comrades 
were  fairly  petrified  with  astonishment,  and  only 
when  he  called  a  drozhky,  in  order  to  drive  home, 
did  they  begin  to  speak  all  together.  His  whole 
uniform  was  wet.  In  reply  to  their  exclamations, 
Tyegleff  remarked  indifferently  that  a  man 
cannot  avoid  what  is  written  in  his  fate — and 
ordered  the  cabman  to  drive  on. 

"  But  take  the  dog  with  thee  as  a  memento," 
—shouted  one  of  the  officers  after  him.  But 
Tyegleff  merely  waved  his  hand,  and  his  com- 
rades exchanged  glances  of  dumb  amazement. 

The  other  incident  occurred  a  few  days  later, 
at  a  card-party  given  by  the  commander  of  the 
battery.  Tyegleff  was  sitting  in  a  corner,  and 
was  not  taking  part  in  the  game.  "  Ekh,  if  only 
my  grandmother  had  told  me  in  advance  which 
cards  were  destined  to  win,  as  in  Pushkin's 
1  Queen  of  Spades  '!  "—exclaimed  one  of  the  en- 
signs, who  had  dropped  his  third  thousand.  Tyeg- 
leff silently  stepped  up  to  the  table,  took  up  the 
pack  of  cards,  cut,  and  saying:  "  The  six  of  dia- 
monds! "—turned  up  the  pack.  On  the  bottom 
was  the  six  of  diamonds.—"  The  ace  of  clubs! ' 
—he  proclaimed,  and  cut  again.  On  the  bottom 
was  the  ace  of  clubs.—"  The  king  of  diamonds!  " 

247 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

—he  spoke  for  the  third  time,  in  an  energetic 
whisper,  through  his  set  teeth.  He  had  guessed 
right  for  the  third  time  ....  and  suddenly 
flushed  crimson  all  over.  Probably  he  himself 
had  not  expected  it. 

"A  capital  trick!  Show  us  another,"— re- 
marked the  battery  commander. 

"  I  do  not  deal  in  tricks,"  replied  Tyegleff, 
drily,  and  went  out  into  the  adjoining  room. 
How  it  came  about  that  he  managed  to  guess  the 
card  in  advance,  I  will  not  undertake  to  explain, 
but  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  After  him  many 
of  the  players  present  tried  to  do  the  same  thing, 
and  no  one  succeeded.  A  man  could  guess  one 
card,  but  two  cards  in  succession— not  by  any 
means;  while  Tyegleff  had  guessed  three!  This 
affair  still  further  confirmed  his  reputation  as 
a  mysterious  man  of  fate.  The  thought  fre- 
quently occurred  to  me  afterward  that  if  his  trick 
with  cards  had  not  proved  successful,  who  knows 
what  turn  his  reputation  would  have  taken,  and 
how  would  he  have  looked  upon  himself?  But 
that  unexpected  success  definitively  settled  the 
matter. 

IV 

Naturally,  Tyegleff  immediately  clutched 
hold  of  that  reputation.  It  conferred  upon  him 
special  importance,  special  colouring.  .  .  "  Cela 

248 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

le  posait/'—as  the  French  say,— and  with  his  lim- 
ited mind,  insignificant  attainments,  and  vast  con- 
ceit, such  a  reputation  was  exactly  to  his  taste. 
To  acquire  it  was  difficult,  but  it  cost  nothing  to 
maintain  it:  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  hold  his 
tongue  and  look  ferocious. 

But  it  was  not  in  consequence  of  this  reputa- 
tion that  I  became  intimate  with  Tyegleff  and,  I 
may  say,  conceived  an  affection  for  him.  I 
loved  him,  in  the  first  place,  because  he  was  a  well- 
bred  eccentric,  and  I  saw  in  him  a  kindred  soul; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  because  he  was  a  kind 
man  and,  in  reality,  very  simple-hearted.  He  in- 
spired me  with  something  in  the  nature  of  com- 
passion; it  seemed  to  me  that,  setting  aside  his 
fancied  fatalism,  a  tragic  fate  really  was  impend- 
ing over  him  which  he  himself  did  not  suspect. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  I  did  not  mention  that 
feeling  to  him.  Can  there  be  anything  more  in- 
sulting to  a  "  man  of  destiny  "  than  compassion? 
And  Tyegleff  felt  a  liking  for  me:  he  was  at  his 
ease  with  me,  he  conversed  with  me,— in  my  pres- 
ence he  used  to  make  up  his  mind  to  abandon 
that  strange  pedestal  upon  which  he  had  acci- 
dentally half  fallen,  half  clambered.  Although 
torturingly,  painfully  conceited,  it  may  be  he  ad- 
mitted, in  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  that  his  conceit 
was  in  no  way  justifiable,  and  that  others  were,  in 
all  probability,  looking  down  upon  him  ....  while 
I,  a  lad  of  nineteen,  did  not  embarrass  him.    The 

219 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

fear  of  saying  something  stupid  or  inappropri- 
ate did  not  contract  his  ever-watchful  heart  in 
my  presence.  He  even  fell  into  loquacity  at 
times;  and  lucky  it  was  for  him  that  no  one  ex- 
cept myself  heard  his  speeches!  His  reputation 
would  not  have  lasted  long.  He  not  only  knew 
very  little, — he  hardly  read  anything,  and  con- 
fined himself  to  picking  up  appropriate  anec- 
dotes and  stories.  He  believed  in  forebodings, 
predictions,  signs,  meetings ;  in  lucky  and  unlucky 
days,  in  the  persecution  or  benignity  of  fate, — in 
the  significance  of  life,  in  one  word.  He  even 
believed  in  certain  "climacteric  years"  which  some 
one  had  mentioned  in  his  presence,  and  the  mean- 
ing whereof  he  did  not  thoroughly  understand. 
Genuine  men  of  destiny  should  not  express  such 
beliefs :  they  must  inspire  other  people  with  them. 
.  .  .  But  I  alone  knew  Tyegleff  from  that  side. 


V 

One  day — it  was  on  St.  Ilya's  day,  July  20,1 
I  remember— I  went  to  visit  my  brother  and  did 
not  find  him  at  home;  he  had  been  ordered  off 
somewhere  for  a  whole  week.  I  did  not  wish 
to  return  to  Petersburg.  I  trudged  about  the 
neighbouring  marshes  with  my  gun,  killed  a  brace 

1  Or  Elijah,  on  August  2,  N.  S.  Generally  on  that  day  there  are 
terrific  thunder-storms,  which  the  Russian  people  say  are  caused  by 
the  prophet  ascending  to  heaven  in  his  fiery  chariot.— Translator. 

250 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

of  woodcock,  and  passed  the  evening  with  Tyeg- 
leff  under  the  shed  of  an  empty  wagon-house,  in 
which  he  had  set  up,  as  he  expressed  it,  his  sum- 
mer residence.  We  chatted  about  various  things, 
but  chiefly  drank  tea,  smoked  our  pipes,  and 
talked  now  with  the  landlord,  a  Russified  Finn, 
now  with  a  pedlar  who  was  roaming  around  the 
battery,  a  seller  of  "  goo-o-od  'ranges  and  lem- 
ons," a  nice  fellow  and  droll,  who,  in  addition  to 
other  talents,  knew  how  to  play  on  the  guitar,  and 
told  us  about  the  unhappy  love  which  he  had 
cherished  in  "  babyhood  "  1  for  the  daughter  of  a 
policeman.  On  attaining  maturity  this  Don 
Juan  in  a  shirt  of  cotton  print  had  no  longer  ex- 
perienced any  unfortunate  attachments. 

In  front  of  the  gate  of  our  wagon-shed  a  broad 
ravine  spread  out,  which  gradually  grew  deeper 
and  deeper;  a  tiny  rivulet  sparkled  in  places  in 
the  windings  of  the  rift.  Further  away,  on  the 
horizon,  low  forests  were  visible.  Night  ap- 
proached and  we  were  left  alone.  Along  with 
the  night  there  descended  upon  the  earth  a  thin, 
damp  vapour  which,  spreading  more  and  more 
widely,  was  eventually  converted  into  a  dense  fog. 
The  moon  rose  in  the  sky;  the  whole  fog  became 
permeated  through  and  through,  and  gilded,  as 
it  were,  by  its  rays.  Everything  was  transposed, 
muffled  up  and  entangled,  as  it  were;  the  distant 

i  The  pedlar  is,  evidently,  a  Jew,  and  gets  his  words 
mixed. — Translator. 

251 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

appeared  near,  the  near  distant,  the  large  ap- 
peared small,  the  small  large  ....  everything 
became  bright  and  indistinct.  We  seemed  to 
have  been  transported  into  a  fairy  realm,  to  the 
realm  of  whitish-gold  fog,  of  profound  stillness, 
of  sensitive  sleep.  .  .  .  And  how  mysteriously, 
with  what  silvery  sparks,  did  the  stars  pierce 
through  overhead!  We  both  fell  silent.  The 
fantastic  aspect  of  that  night  took  effect  upon 
us:  it  attuned  us  to  the  fantastic. 


VI 

Tyegleff  was  the  first  to  speak,  with  his  custom- 
ary hitches,  breaks,  and  repetitions,  about  fore- 
bodings ....  about  visions.  On  just  such  a 
night,  according  to  his  statement,  one  of  his  ac- 
quaintances, a  student  who  had  just  entered  on 
his  duties  as  governor  to  two  orphans,  and  had 
been  lodged  with  them  in  a  separate  pavilion,  had 
beheld  a  female  figure  bending  over  their  beds, 
and  on  the  following  day  had  recognised  that  fig- 
ure in  a  portrait,  hitherto  unperceived  by  him, 
which  depicted  the  mother  of  those  same  orphans. 
Then  Tyegleff  declared  that  his  parents,  for  the 
space  of  several  days  before  their  death,  had 
constantly  thought  they  heard  the  sound  of 
water;  that  his  grandfather  had  escaped  death 
in  the  battle  of  Borodino,  through  having  seen  a 
white  pebble  on  the  ground  and  stooped  to  pick  it 

252 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  t  KNOCK  .  .  . 

up — and  at  that  same  moment  a  grape-shot  had 
flown  past  over  his  head  and  broken  off  his  long 
black  plume.  Tyegleff  even  promised  to  show 
me  that  same  pebble  which  had  saved  his  grand- 
father, and  had  been  inserted  by  him  in  a  locket. 
Then  he  alluded  to  the  vocation  of  every  man, 
and  his  own  in  particular,  adding  that  he  believed 
in  it  up  to  that  moment,  and  that  if  at  any  time 
doubts  should  arise  within  him  concerning  it,  he 
would  know  how  to  rid  himself  of  them  and  of 
his  life,  for  life  would  then  have  lost  all  signifi- 
cance for  him.  "Perhaps  you  think" — said  he, 
casting  a  sidelong  glance  at  me — "that  I  have 
not  sufficient  courage  for  that  ?  You  do  not  know 
me.  ...  I  have  an  iron  will." 

"  Well  said,"— I  thought  to  myself. 

Tyegleff  became  thoughtful,  heaved  a  deep 
sigh,  and  dropping  his  pipe  from  his  hand,  he  in- 
formed me  that  that  was  an  important  day  for 
him.— "This  is  St.  Ilya's  day,— my  name-day. 
....  This  ....  this  is  always  a  painful  time 
for  me." 

I  made  no  reply  and  merely  stared  at  him  as  he 
sat  in  front  of  me,  bent  double,  round-shouldered, 
clumsy,  with  sleepy  and  gloomy  gaze  riveted  on 
the  ground. 

"To-day"— he  went  on— "an  old  beggar-wo- 
man "  (Tyegleff  never  let  a  single  beggar  pass 
him  without  bestowing  alms)  "told  me  that  she 
would  pray  for  my  soul.  ...  Is  n't  that  strange?  " 

253 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  What  possesses  a  man  to  worry  about  himself 
all  the  time?  "—I  thought  to  myself.  But  I  am 
bound  to  add  that  of  late  I  had  begun  to  notice 
an  unusual  expression  of  anxiety  and  trepidation 
on  Tyegleff's  face,  and  it  was  not  the  melan- 
choly of  a  man  of  destiny;  something  was  really 
distressing  and  torturing  him.  On  this  occasion, 
also,  I  was  struck  by  the  despondency  which  was 
spread  over  his  features.  Could  it  be  that  those 
doubts  to  which  he  had  alluded  were  already  be- 
ginning to  arise  within  him?  Tyegleff's  com- 
rades had  told  me  that  not  long  before  he  had 
handed  to  the  authorities  a  project  for  certain 
thorough  reforms  "  connected  with  the  gun- 
carriages,"  and  that  that  project  had  been 
returned  to  him  "  with  an  inscription,"  that  is 
to  say,  with  a  reproof.  Knowing  his  character, 
I  did  not  doubt  that  such  scorn  on  the  part 
of  the  authorities  had  wounded  him  deeply. 
But  that  which  I  discerned  in  Tyegleff  was 
more  akin  to  sadness,  had  a  more  personal 
tinge. 

"  But  it  is  growing  damp,"— he  suddenly  said, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Let  us  go  into  the 
cottage — and  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed." 

He  had  a  habit  of  twitching  his  shoulders  and 
turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  exactly  as 
though  his  neckcloth  were  too  tight,  clutching  at 
his  throat  the  while.  Tyegleff's  character  was 
expressed— at  least,  so  it  seemed  to  me— in  that 

254 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

anxious  and  nervous  motion.  Things  were  too 
tight  for  him  in  the  world  also. 

We  returned  to  the  cottage  and  lay  down,  each 
of  us  on  the  wall-bench — he  in  the  fair  corner,1 
I  in  the  front  corner,  on  hay,  which  we  had  spread 
out. 

VII 

Tyegleff  tossed  about  restlessly  for  a  long  time 
on  his  bench,  and  I  could  not  get  to  sleep.  Whe- 
ther it  was  that  his  stories  had  excited  my  nerves, 
or  that  that  night  had  irritated  my  blood,  I  do 
not  know;— only,  I  could  not  get  to  sleep.  Every 
desire  for  sleep  even  vanished  at  last,  and  I  lay 
with  wide-open  eyes  and  thought, — thought  in- 
tently, God  knows  about  what:  about  the  veriest 
nonsense,  as  is  always  the  case  during  an  attack 
of  insomnia.  As  I  tossed  from  side  to  side  I  threw 
out  my  arms.  .  .  .  My  finger  came  in  contact 
with  one  of  the  wall  beams.  A  faint,  but  reso- 
nant and  prolonged  sound  rang  out.  ...  I  must 
have  hit  upon  a  hollow  place. 

Again  I  tapped  with  my  finger  ....  this 
time  intentionally.  The  sound  was  repeated.  I 
did  it  again.  .  .  .  Suddenly  Tyegleff  raised  his 
head. 

'Riedel,"— he  said, — "listen;  some  one  is 
knocking  under  the  window." 

i  The  corner  in  which  the  holy  pictures  hang— the  right-hand 
further  corner,  facing  the  entrance  door.— Tbahslato*. 

255 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

I  feigned  to  be  asleep.  I  was  suddenly  seized 
with  the  whim  to  make  sport  of  my  "  fatal"  com- 
panion. It  made  no  difference— I  could  not 
sleep. 

He  dropped  his  head  on  his  pillow.  I  waited 
a  little  and  again  tapped  three  times  in  succes- 
sion. 

Again  TyeglefF  rose  up  and  began  to  listen. 

I  knocked  again.  I  was  lying  with  my  face 
toward  him,  but  he  could  not  see  my  hand.  .  .  . 
I  had  thrown  it  backward,  under  the  coverlet. 

"  Riedel !  "-shouted  TyeglefF. 

I  did  not  respond. 

"Riedel!  "-he  repeated  loudly.-"  Riedel!  " 

"Hay?  What  is  it?"  I  said,  as  though  only 
half  awake. 

"  Don't  you  hear?  Some  one  is  knocking 
under  the  window.  Shall  we  ask  him  into  the 
cottage?" 

"  Some  wayfarer  "...  I  faltered. 

"  Then  we  must  admit  him,  or  find  out  what 
sort  of  man  he  is ! " 

But  I  did  not  reply  again,  and  again  feigned 
to  be  asleep. 

Several  minutes  passed.  .  .  .  Again  I  began 
my  tricks.  .  .  . 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

Through  my  half-closed  eyelids,  by  the  whit- 
ish nocturnal  light,  I  could  observe  his  move- 
ments well.     He  kept  turning  his  face  now  to- 

256 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

ward  the  window,  now  toward  the  door.  In  fact, 
it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  whence  the  sound 
proceeded:  it  seemed  to  fly  around  the  room,  as 
though  it  were  slipping  along  the  walls.  I  had 
accidentally  hit  upon  the  acoustic  chord. 

"Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

"Riedel!"  shouted  Tyegleff  at  last.— "  Rie- 
del!    Riedel!" 

"  Why,  what  is  it?  "—I  said,  yawning. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  hear  nothing?  Some 
one  is  knocking." 

'  Well,  God  be  with  him— I  want  nothing  to 
do  with  him!" — I  replied,  and  again  pretended 
that  I  had  fallen  asleep.    I  even  snored.  .  .  . 

Tyegleff  quieted  down. 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

"  Who  's  there?  "—shouted  Tyegleff.—"  Come 
in!" 

As  a  matter  of  course,  no  one  answered. 

'  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

Tyegleff  sprang  out  of  bed,  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  thrusting  out  his  head,  inquired  in  a 
fierce  voice:  "  Who  's  there?  Who  is  knocking? ,! 
Then  he  opened  the  door  and  repeated  his  ques- 
tion. A  horse  neighed  in  the  distance— and  that 
was  all. 

He  returned  to  his  bed.  .  .  . 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock !  .  .  ." 

Tyegleff  instantly  turned  over  and  sat  up. 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

257 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Tyegleff  promptly  pulled  on  his  boots,  threw 
his  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  and  unhooking  his 
sword  from  the  wall,  went  out  of  the  cottage.  I 
heard  him  make  the  circuit  of  it  twice,  asking  all 
the  while :  '  Who  's  there  ?  Who  goes  there  ? 
Who  is  knocking  there?  "  Then  he  suddenly  fell 
silent,  stood  for  a  while  on  one  spot  in  the  street 
not  far  from  the  corner  where  I  was  lying,  and 
without  uttering  another  word  returned  to  the 
cottage  and  lay  down  without  undressing. 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  ..."  I  began 
again.    "  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock! .  .  ." 

But  Tyegleff  did  not  stir,  did  not  inquire: 
"Who  is  knocking?"  He  merely  propped  his 
head  on  his  hand. 

Perceiving  that  that  was  no  longer  effective, 
after  a  little  while  I  pretended  to  wake  up,  and, 
after  casting  a  glance  at  Tyegleff,  I  assumed  a 
surprised  aspect. 

"Have  you  been  out  anywhere?"— I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  indifferently. 

"Did  you  continue  to  hear  the  knocking?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  met  no  one?  " 

"  No." 

"And  has  the  knocking  stopped?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It  makes  no  difference  to  me 
now." 

"  Now?    Why  precisely  now?  " 

Tyegleff  did  not  answer. 

258 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  ,  . 

I  felt  rather  conscience-stricken  and  vexed  at 
him.  Nevertheless,  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  to  avow  my  prank. 

"  See  here,"  I  began:—"  I  am  convinced  that 
the  whole  thing  is  merely  your  imagination." 

Tyegleff  scowled.—"  Ah?    So  you  think!  " 

"  You  say  that  you  heard  a  knock.  .  .  ." 

"  I  did  not  hear  a  knock,  only,"  he  interrupted 
me. 

"  What  else  did  you  hear? " 

Tyegleff  swayed  forward— and  bit  his  lips. 

"  They  have  called  me!  "  he  articulated  at  last, 
in  a  low  tone,  as  he  turned  away  his  face. 

"They  have  called  you?  Who  has  called 
you? " 

"  A  .  .  .  ."—Tyegleff  continued  to  gaze  to  one 
side — "  a  being  concerning  whom  I  only  assumed 
up  to  this  moment  that  it1  was  dead.  .  .  .  But 
now  I  know  it  for  a  certainty." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "  that  that  is  all  mere  imagination! ' 

"Imagination?"  he  repeated.  "Would  you 
like  to  convince  yourself  in  earnest?' 

"  I  would." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  go  out  into  the  street." 

1  The  first  "  a  "  is  feminine.  The  "  it "  is  to  agree  with  TyeglefFs 
non-committal  "  being,"  which  is  of  the  neuter  gender.— Than?' 
latob. 


259 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 


VIII 

■ 
I  hastily  dressed  myself  and  with  Tyegleff  went 

out  of  the  cottage.  Opposite  it,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  there  were  no  houses,  but  a 
long  wattled  fence  stretched  out,  with  breaches 
here  and  there,  behind  which  began  a  decidedly- 
steep  descent  to  the  plain.  The  fog,  as  before, 
enveloped  all  objects,  and  hardly  anything 
could  be  seen  at  a  distance  of  twenty  paces. 
Tyegleff  and  I  walked  to  the  wattled  fence  and 
halted. 

"  Here  now,"  he  said,  dropping  his  head. 
"  Stand  still,  be  silent — and  listen ! ':  Like  him,  I 
bent  my  ear,  and  save  the  usual,  extremely  faint 
but  universal  nocturnal  hum— that  breathing  of 
the  night— I  heard  nothing.  From  time  to  time 
exchanging  a  glance,  we  stood  there  motionless 
for  several  minutes— and  were  "already  preparing 
to  move  on  ...  . 

"  Iliiisha!  "  I  thought  I  heard  a  whisper  from 
the  other  side  of  the  fence. 

I  glanced  at  Tyegleff,  but  he  appeared  not  to 
have  heard  anything,  and  held  his  head  down- 
cast as  before. 

"  Iliiisha  ....  hey,  Iliiisha  .  .  .  ."  resounded 
more  plainly  than  before— so  plainly  that  one 
could  understand  that  those  words  were  uttered 
by  a  woman. 

260 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

We  both  gave  a  start— and  stared  at  each 
other. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?  "  Tyegleff  asked 
me,  in  a  whisper.    "  You  will  not  doubt  now? ' 

"  Stay,"  I  said  to  him,  with  equal  softness,— 
"that  proves  nothing  as  yet.  We  must  look 
and  see  if  there  is  not  some  one  there — some 
jester.  .  .  ." 

I  leaped  over  the  fence,  and  walked  in  the 
direction  whence,  so  far  as  I  was  able  to  judge, 
the  voice  had  proceeded. 

Under  my  feet  I  felt  the  soft,  porous  earth; 
long  strips  of  vegetable-beds  lost  themselves  in 
the  fog.  I  was  in  a  vegetable-garden.  But  no- 
thing stirred  around  me,  or  in  front  of  me. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  sunk  in  the  numbness  of 
sleep.    I  advanced  a  few  paces  further. 

"  Who  is  there? "  I  shouted  to  match  Tyegleff. 

"  Pr-r-r-r ! "  A  startled  quail  darted  out  from 
under  my  very  feet,  and  flew  away,  as  straight  as 
a  bullet.  I  involuntarily  recoiled.  .  .  .  What 
nonsense!  I  glanced  back.  Tyegleff  was  visi- 
ble on  the  selfsame  spot  where  I  had  left  him. 
I  approached  him. 

"  It  will  be  useless  for  you  to  call,"  he  said. 
"  That  voice  has  reached  us  ...  .  me  .  .  .  from 
afar." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  and  with 
quiet  steps  wended  his  way  across  the  street 
homeward.    But  I  would  not  give  in  so  quickly, 

261 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

and  returned  to  the  vegetable-garden.  That 
some  one  had  actually  called  "  Iliusha  "  thrice  I 
could  not  cherish  the  slightest  doubt;  I  was  also 
forced  to  admit  to  myself  that  there  had  been 
something  plaintive  and  mysterious  in  that  call. 
....  But,  who  knows?  Perhaps  all  that  only 
seemed  incomprehensible,  but  in  reality  could  be 
explained  as  simply  as  the  knocking  which  had 
agitated  TyeglefY. 

I  walked  along  the  wattled  fence,  pausing  and 
looking  around  me  from  time  to  time.  Close  to 
the  fence  and  not  far  from  our  cottage  grew  an 
aged,  bushy  white  willow;  it  stood  out  as  a  huge 
black  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  universal  whiteness 
of  the  fog,  of  that  dim  whiteness  which  blinds 
and  dulls  the  vision  worse  than  darkness.  Sud- 
denly I  thought  something  of  considerable  size, 
something  living,  rolled  over  on  the  ground  near 
that  willow.  With  the  exclamation:  "  Halt! 
Who  is  there?  "  I  dashed  forward.  Light  foot- 
steps like  those  of  a  hare  became  audible;  past 
me  flitted  a  figure  all  bent  double,  whether  of 
man  or  woman  I  could  not  distinguish.  ...  I 
tried  to  seize  it,  but  did  not  succeed,  stumbling 
and  falling  and  burning  my  face  in  the  nettles. 
Rising  half-way  and  propping  myself  with  my 
elbow  on  the  ground,  I  felt  something  hard  under 
my  arm;  it  was  a  small  carved  brass  comb  on  a 
string,  like  those  which  our  peasants  wear  in  their 
belts. 

262 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Further  researches  on  my  part  proved  vain, 
and  comb  in  hand  and  with  nettle-burned  cheeks 
I  returned  to  the  cottage. 

IX 

I  found  Tyegleff  sitting  on  the  wall-bench.  In 
front  of  him  on  the  table  burned  a  candle,  and  he 
was  engaged  in  writing  something  in  a  small 
album  which  he  carried  constantly  with  him.  On 
catching  sight  of  me,  he  hastily  thrust  the  tiny 
album  into  his  pocket  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe. 

'Here,  my  dear  fellow," — I  began,— "  see 
what  a  trophy  I  have  brought  back  from  my 
campaign ! ' '  I  showed  him  the  little  comb  and  told 
him  what  had  happened  to  me  under  the  willow. 
—  "I  must  have  scared  a  thief,"  I  added.  "  Did 
you  hear  that  our  neighbour  had  had  a  horse 
stolen  last  night?" 

Tyegleff  smiled  coldly  and  lighted  his  pipe.  I 
sat  down  by  his  side. 

1  And  you  are  still  convinced,  as  before,  Ilya 
Stepanitch,"— I  said,—"  that  the  voice  which  we 
heard  had  flown  hither  from  those  unknown  re- 
gions .  .  .  ." 

He  stopped  me  with  an  imperious  gesture  of 
his  hand. 

"  Riedel,"  he  began,—"  I  am  in  no  mood  for 
jesting,  and  therefore  I  beg  that  you  will  not  jest 
either." 

263 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .   .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Tyegleff  really  was  in  no  mood  for  jesting. 
His  face  had  undergone  a  change.  It  seemed 
paler,  more  expressive.  His  strange,  "  mis- 
matched "  eyes  roved  quietly.  "  I  did  not  think," 
he  began  again, — "  that  I  should  ever  commu- 
nicate to  another  ....  another  man  that  which 
you  are  about  to  hear,  and  which  should  have 
died  ....  yes,  died  in  my  breast;  but,  evi- 
dently, it  is  necessary — and  I  have  no  choice. 
'T  is  fate!    Listen." 

And  he  communicated  to  me  the  whole  story. 

I  have  already  told  you,  gentlemen,  that  he 
was  a  bad  narrator;  but  he  impressed  me  that 
night  not  alone  by  his  ignorance  of  how  to  im- 
part to  me  the  events  which  had  happened  to  him : 
the  very  sound  of  his  voice,  his  looks,  the  move- 
ments which  he  made  with  his  fingers  and  hands 
— everything  about  him,  in  a  word,  seemed  un- 
natural, unnecessary, — spurious,  in  short.  I  was 
still  very  young  and  inexperienced,  and  did  not 
know  that  the  habit  of  expressing  one's  self  in  a 
rhetorical  way,  falsity  of  intonation  and  man- 
ners, may  so  corrode  a  man  that  he  is  no  longer 
able  to  rid  himself  of  it.  It  is  a  curse,  in  its  way. 
I  lately  happened  to  meet  a  certain  lady  who  nar- 
rated to  me  with  such  bombastic  language,  with 
such  theatrical  gestures,  with  such  a  melodra- 
matic shaking  of  the  head  and  rolling  up  of  the 
eyes,  the  impression  produced  on  her  by  the  death 
of  her  son,  her  "  immeasurable  grief,"  her  fears 

264 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

for  her  own  reason,  that  I  thought  to  nryself : 
'How  that  lady  is  lying  and  putting  on  airs! 
She  did  not  love  her  son  at  all!"  But  a  week 
later  I  learned  that  the  poor  woman  actually  had 
gone  out  of  her  mind.  Ever  since  then  I  have 
been  much  more  cautious  in  my  judgments,  and 
have  trusted  much  less  to  my  own  impressions. 

X 

The  story  which  Tyegleff  narrated  to  me  was, 
briefly,  as  follows:  —  In  Petersburg — in  addition 
to  his  uncle,  the  dignitary — dwelt  an  aunt  of  his, 
not  a  woman  of  great  position,  but  possessed  of 
property.  As  she  was  childless,  she  had  adopted 
a  little  girl,  an  orphan  from  the  petty-burgher 
class,  had  given  her  a  suitable  education,  and 
treated  her  like  a  daughter.  The  girl's  name  was 
Masha.  Tyegleff  had  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
her  almost  every  day.  It  ended  in  their  falling 
in  love  with  each  other,  and  Masha  gave  herself 
to  him.  This  came  to  light.  Tyegleff's  aunt 
flew  into  a  frightful  rage,  turned  the  unhappy 
girl,  in  disgrace,  out  of  her  house,  and  removed 
her  residence  to  Moscow,  where  she  took  a  young 
lady  of  the  gentry  as  her  nursling  and  heiress. 
On  returning  to  her  former  relations,  poor  and 
drunken  people,  Masha  endured  a  bitter  fate. 
Tyegleff  had  promised  to  marry  her— and  did  not 
keep  his  promise.     On  the  occasion  of  his  last- 

205 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

meeting  with  her  he  was  compelled  to  state  his 
intentions.  Masha  wanted  to  learn  the  truth— 
and  she  got  it. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  I  am  not  to  be  thy  wife, 
then  I  know  what  remains  for  me  to  do."  More 
than  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  after  this  last  meet- 
ing. 

"  Not  for  one  minute  have  I  deceived  myself 
as  to  the  meaning  of  her  last  words,"  added  Tyeg- 
leff .  "  I  am  convinced  that  she  has  put  an  end 
to  her  life,  and  ....  and  that  that  was  her 
voice,  that  she  was  calling  me  thither  ....  after 
her.  ...  I  recognised  her  voice.  .  .  .  Well, 
't is  all  the  same  in  the  end! " 

"  But  why  did  not  you  marry  her,  Ilya  Stepa- 
nitch?  "  I  asked.    "  Had  you  ceased  to  love  her?  " 

"  No;  to  this  hour  I  love  her  passionately." 

At  this  point,  gentlemen,  I  stared  with  all  my 
might  at  Tyegleff.  I  called  to  mind  another  of 
my  acquaintances,  a  very  intelligent  man  who, 
being  the  possessor  of  an  extremely  ill-favoured, 
stupid,  and  not  wealthy  wife,  in  reply  to  the  ques- 
tion I  had  put  to  him:  "  Why  had  he  married? 
Probably  for  love?  "—had  replied:  "  Not  in  the 
least  for  love!  But  it  just  happened  so! "  But' 
here  was  Tyegleff  passionately  fond  of  a  girl 
and  did  not  marry.  Well  then?  And  here 
also  had  it  "just  happened  so!" 

"  Why  don't  you  marry?  "  I  asked  him  the  sec- 
ond time. 

266 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Tyegleff's  somnolently-strange  eyes  wandered 
over  the  table. 

'  That  ....  cannot  be  told  ....  in  a  few 
words,"  he  began  hesitatingly.  "  There  were 
reasons.  .  .  .  And  besides,  she  ....  is  of  the 
burgher  class.  Well,  and  my  uncle  ....  I  had 
to  take  him  into  consideration." 

"  Your  uncle?  "  I  cried.  "  But  what  the  devil 
do  you  care  for  your  uncle,  whom  you  only  see  on 
New  Year's  Day,  when  you  go  to  present  your 
congratulations?  Are  you  reckoning  on  his 
wealth?  Why,  he  has  about  a  dozen  children  of 
his  own ! " 

I  spoke  with  heat.  .  .  .  Tyegleff  winced,  and 
blushed  .  .  .  blushed  unevenly,  in  spots.  .  .  . 
"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  read  me  a  lecture,"  he 
said  dully.  "  However,  I  do  not  defend  myself. 
I  have  ruined  her  life,  and  now  I  must  pay  the 
debt.  .  .  ." 

He  dropped  his  head  and  fell  silent.  I  also 
found  nothing  to  say. 

XI 

Thus  we  sat  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  stared 
to  one  side  and  I  stared  at  him— and  noticed  that 
the  hair  above  his  brow  had  risen  in  a  peculiar 
sort  of  way  and  was  curling  in  rings,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  remark  of  a  military  doctor, 
through  whose  hands  had  passed  many  wounded, 

267 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  ,  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

always  serves  as  a  sign  of  a  strong,  dry  fever  in 
the  brain.  .  .  .  Again  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
hand  of  Fate  really  did  weigh  upon  this  man,  and 
that  not  without  cause  had  his  comrades  perceived 
in  him  something  fatal.  And  at  the  same  time 
I  inwardly  condemned  him.  "  Of  the  burgher 
class! "  I  thought.  "  But  do  you  call  yourself  an 
aristocrat?" 

"  Perhaps  you  condemn  me,  Riedel,"  began 
Tyegleff,  suddenly,  as  though  divining  my 
thoughts.  '  I  am  greatly  distressed  myself  .... 
greatly  distressed.  But  what  can  I  do?  What 
can  I  do?  " 

He  leaned  his  chin  on  his  palm  and  began  to 
gnaw  the  broad,  flat  nails  of  his  short,  red  fingers, 
which  were  as  hard  as  iron. 

'  I  am  of  the  opinion,  Ilya  Stepanitch,  that  you 
should  first  make  sure  whether  your  surmises  are 
correct.  .  .  .  Perhaps  your  lady-love  is  alive  and 
well."  ("Shall  I  tell  him  the  real  cause  of  the 
knocking?  "  flashed  through  my  mind.  .  .  .  "No 
— later  on.") 

"  She  has  not  written  to  me  a  single  time  since 
we  have  been  in  camp,"  remarked  Tyegleff. 

"  That  proves  nothing,  Ilya  Stepanitch." 

Tyegleff  waved  his  hand  in  despair.  — "  No! 
She  certainly  is  no  longer  on  earth.  She  has 
called  me.  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  turned  his  face  toward  the  win- 
dow.—" Some  one  is  knocking  again! " 

2G8 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

I  involuntarily  burst  out  laughing.—"  You 
must  excuse  me,  Ilya  Stepanitch !  This  time  it  is 
your  nerves.  Dawn  is  breaking,  as  you  see.  In 
ten  minutes  the  sun  will  rise;  it  is  already  after 
three  o'clock,  and  visions  do  not  act  in  daylight." 

TyeglefF  darted  at  me  a  gloomy  glance,  and 
muttering  between  his  teeth,  "  Farewell,  sir,"  he 
threw  himself  down  on  the  bench  and  turned  his 
back  on  me. 

I  also  lay  down,— and  I  remember  that,  before 
I  fell  asleep,  I  meditated  as  to  why  Tyegleff  had 
kept  hinting  at  his  intention  to  take  his  own  life. 
'  What  nonsense,  what  phrase-making!  He  has 
voluntarily  refrained  from  marrying.  .  .  .  He 
has  abandoned  the  girl  ....  and  now,  all  of  a 
sudden,  he  wants  to  kill  himself!  There  is  no 
human  sense  in  that!  He  cannot  keep  from 
showing  off!  " 

Thus  thinking,  I  fell  into  a  very  sound  sleep, 
and  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  sun  already  stood 
high  in  the  heavens,  and  TyeglefF  was  not  in  the 
cottage.  .  .  . 

According  to  his  servant's  statement,  he  had 
gone  away  to  the  town. 

XII 

I  spent  a  very  wearisome,  irksome  day.  Tyeg- 
leff did  not  return  either  to  dinner  or  to  supper. 
I  did  not  expect  my  brother.    Toward  evening  a 

2(D 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

thick  fog,  worse  than  that  of  the  preceding  day, 
spread  over  everything.  I  lay  down  to  sleep  quite 
early.    A  knock  under  the  window  awoke  me. 

My  turn  had  come  to  start. 

The  knock  was  repeated — and  with  such  insis- 
tent clearness  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  its 
reality.  I  rose,  opened  the  window,  and  perceived 
Tyegleff.  Wrapped  in  his  military  cloak,  with 
his  forage-cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  he  was 
standing  motionless. 

"  Ilya  Stepanitch!  "  I  exclaimed,—"  is  it  you? 
We  had  given  up  expecting  you.  Come  in.  Is 
the  door  locked? " 

Tyegleff  shook  his  head  in  negation.—"  I  do 
not  intend  to  enter,"  he  said  dully. — "  I  merely 
wish  to  ask  you  to  transmit  this  letter  to  the 
commander  of  the  battery  to-morrow  morning." 

He  held  out  to  me  a  large  envelope  sealed  with 
five  seals.  I  was  amazed,  but  mechanically  took 
the  envelope.  Tyegleff  immediately  walked  off 
to  the  middle  of  the  street. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  I  began.  ..."  Whither  are 
you  going?  Have  you  only  just  arrived?  And 
what  is  this  letter?  " 

"  Do  you  promise  to  deliver  it  at  its  address? ' 
said  Tyegleff,  retreating  several  paces  further. 
The  fog  began  to  shroud  the  outlines  of  his  figure. 
— "  Do  you  promise?  " 

"  I  promise  .  .  .  but  first  .  .  .  ." 

Tyegleff  retreated  still  further— and  became 

270 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

a  dark,  oblong  spot. — "  Farewell!  "  rang  out  his 
voice.  "  Farewell,  Riedel,  remember  me  kindly. 
.  .  .  And  don't  forget  Semyon  .  .  .  ."  And 
even  the  spot  disappeared. 

This  was  too  much!  "  O  cursed  phrase- 
maker!"  I  thought.  "Why  must  thou  always 
be  striving  for  effect?  "  But  I  was  alarmed, 
nevertheless.  Involuntary  terror  oppressed  my 
breast.  I  threw  on  my  cloak  and  ran  out  into  the 
street. 

XIII 

Yes;  but  in  what  direction  was  I  to  go?  The  fog 
enveloped  me  on  all  sides.  One  could  see  through 
it  a  little  for  five  or  six  paces,  but  further  than 
that  it  was  fairly  piled  up  like  a  wall,  porous  and 
white,  like  wadding.  I  turned  to  the  right,  along 
the  street  of  the  hamlet  which  ended  just  there; 
our  cottage  was  the  last  one  on  the  verge,  and 
beyond  it  began  the  empty  plain,  here  and  there 
overgrown  with  bushes.  Beyond  the  plain,  a 
quarter  of  a  verst  distant  from  the  hamlet,  there 
was  a  birch  coppice,  and  through  it  ran  the  same 
small  stream  which  lower  down  made  a  loop 
around  the  village.  All  this  I  knew  well,  because 
I  had  many  times  beheld  it  all  by  daylight;  but 
now  I  could  see  nothing,  and  could  only  guess, 
from  the  greater  density  and  whiteness  of  the 
fog,  where  the  land  descended  and  the  little  river 
flowed.     In  the  sky,  like  a  pale  spot,  hung  the 

271 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .   .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

moon,  but  its  light  was  not  strong  enough,  as  on 
the  preceding  night,  to  conquer  the  smoky  com- 
pactness of  the  fog,  which  hung  aloft  like  a  broad, 
faint  canopy.  I  made  my  way  out  on  the  plain 
and  began  to  listen.  .  .  .  Not  a  sound  anywhere 
except  the  whistling  of  the  woodcock. 

"  Tyegleff!  "  I  shouted.  "  Ilva  Stepanitch!  ! 
Tyegleff!!" 

My  voice  died  away  around  me  without  a  re- 
sponse; it  seemed  as  though  the  very  fog  would 
not  permit  it  to  go  further.  "  Tyegleff!  "  I  re- 
peated. 

No  one  answered. 

I  advanced  at  haphazard.  Twice  I  came  in  con- 
tact with  the  wattled  fence,  once  I  almost  tumbled 
into  a  ditch,  and  I  all  but  stumbled  over  a  peas- 
ant's horse  which  was  lying  on  the  ground.  .  .  . 
"  Tyegleff !    Tyegleff ! "  I  shouted. 

Suddenly  behind  me,  very  close  at  hand  in- 
deed, I  heard  a  low  voice :  —  "  Well,  here  I  am. 
.  .  .  .  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

I  wheeled  swiftly  round. 

In  front  of  me,  with  pendent  arms,  and  with 
no  cap  on  his  head,  stood  Tyegleff.  His  face  was 
pale,  but  his  eyes  appeared  animated  and  larger 
than  usual.  .  .  .  He  was  inhaling  long,  slow 
breaths  through  his  parted  lips. 

"  God  be  thanked!  "  I  cried,  in  an  outburst  of 
joy,  seizing  him  by  both  hands.  .  .  .  God  be 
thanked!     I  was  already  despairing  of  finding 

272 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

you.    And  are  n't  you  ashamed  of  giving  me  such 
a  fright?    Good  gracious,  Ilya  Stepanitch! ' 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me?  "  repeated  Tyeg- 
leff. 

"  I  want  ...  I  want,  in  the  first  place,  that 
you  shall  return  home  with  me.  And,  in  the 
second  place,  I  wish,  I  demand— I  demand  of 
you,  as  of  a  friend,  that  you  shall  immediately 
explain  to  me  the  meaning  of  your  behaviour — 
and  this  letter  to  the  colonel.  Has  anything  un- 
expected happened  to  you  in  Petersburg?  " 

"  In  Petersburg  I  found  precisely  what  I  had 
expected,"  replied  Tyegleff,  still  not  stirring 
from  the  spot. 

"  That  is  ...  .  you  mean  to  say  ....  your 
friend  ....  that  Masha  .  .  .  ." 

"  She  took  her  own  life,"— interposed  Tyeg- 
leff, hurriedly,  and  as  though  viciously.  '  She 
was  buried  the  day  before  yesterday.  She  did  not 
leave  even  a  note  for  me.    She  poisoned  herself." 

Tyegleff  hastily  blurted  out  these  dreadful 
words,  and  still  stood  motionless,  as  though  made 
of  stone. 

I  clasped  my  hands.—"  Is  it  possible?  What 
a  misfortune!  Your  presentiment  came  true. 
.  .  .  This  is  frightful !  " 

I  fell  silent  in  confusion.  Tyegleff  quietly, 
and  as  though  solemnly,  folded  his  arms. 

"  But  why  do  we  stand  here?  "  I  began.  '  Let 
us  go  home." 

273 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Tyegleff.  "  But  how  are 
we  to  find  the  way  in  this  fog?  " 

"  There  is  a  light  burning  in  the  windows  of 
your  cottage;  we  will  guide  ourselves  by  that. 
Come  along." 

"  Do  you  walk  ahead,"  replied  Tyegleff.  "  I 
will  follow  you." 

We  set  out.  For  five  minutes  we  walked — and 
our  guiding  light  did  not  show  itself;  at  last  it 
beamed  out  a  couple  of  paces  ahead  of  us  in  two 
red  spots.  Tyegleff  walked  behind  me  with  mea- 
sured tread.  I  was  frightfully  anxious  to  get 
home  as  promptly  as  possible  and  learn  from  him 
the  particulars  of  his  unhappy  trip  to  Petersburg. 
Stunned  by  what  he  had  told  me,  in  a  fit  of  re- 
pentance and  partly  of  superstitious  dread,  I  con- 
fessed to  him  before  we  reached  the  cottage  that 
I  had  produced  the  mysterious  knocking  of  the 
night  before  .  .  .  and  what  a  tragic  turn  that 
jest  had  taken! 

Tyegleff  confined  himself  to  the  remark  that  I 
counted  for  nothing  in  the  matter, — that  my  hand 
had  been  guided  by  something  else, — and  that 
that  only  proved  how  little  I  knew  him.  His  voice, 
strangely  quiet  and  even,  sounded  directly  in  my 
ear.—"  But  you  will  learn  to  know  me,"  he  added. 
"  I  saw  you  smile  yesterday  when  I  alluded  to 
my  strength  of  will.  You  will  learn  to  know  me 
— and  you  will  recall  my  words." 

The  first  cottage  in  the  village  surged  up  in 

274 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

front  of  us  out  of  the  fog,  like  some  dark  mon- 
ster ....  and  now  the  second  started  forth, 
our  cottage  started  forth — and  my  setter  hound, 
probably  scenting  me,  began  to  bark. 

I  knocked  at  the  window. — "Semyon!" — I 
shouted  to  Tyegleff's  servant:— "  hey,  there, 
Semyon !  Open  the  gate  to  us  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible!" 

The  gate  clanged  and  opened ;  Semyon  stepped 
across  the  threshold. 

"  Pray,  enter,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  I  said,  glan- 
cing round.  .  .  . 

But  there  was  no  longer  any  Ilya  Stepanitch 
behind  me.  Tyegleff  had  disappeared  as  though 
the  earth  had  swallowed  him. 

I  entered  the  cottage  like  a  man  bereft  of  his 
reason. 

XIV 

Vexation  at  Tyegleff,  at  myself,  superseded  the 
amazement  which  at  first  took  possession  of  me. — 
"  Thy  master  is  crazy!  "  I  said,  darting  at  Se- 
myon— "  downright  crazy!  He  galloped  off  to 
Petersburg,  then  he  came  back — and  now  he  is 
running  about  at  random!  I  caught  him,  and 
brought  him  to  the  very  gate— and  suddenly, 
bang!  he  has  taken  to  his  heels  again!  The  idea 
of  not  staying  at  home  on  such  a  night !  A  pretty 
time  he  has  chosen  for  a  ramble!  " 

275 


"% 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  And  why  did  I  let  go  of  his  hand?  "  I  re- 
proached myself. 

Semyon  stared  in  silence  at  me,  as  though  pre- 
paring to  say  something,  but,  in  accordance  with 
the  habits  of  servants  in  those  days,  he  merely 
shifted  from  foot  to  foot  a  little. 

"  At  what  o'clock  did  he  go  off  to  the  city?  "  I 
inquired  severely. 

"  At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  And  how  did  he  seem — troubled,  sad? ' 

Semyon  cast  down  his  eyes.  —  "  Our  master— is 
queer,"  he  began.  "  Who  can  understand  him? — 
When  he  was  preparing  to  go  to  the  city,  he 
ordered  me  to  give  him  his  new  uniform;  well, 
and  he  curled  himself,  also." 

"  How  curled  himself?  " 

"  Curled  his  hair.    I  fixed  the  tongs  for  him." 

I  must  confess  that  I  had  not  anticipated  this. 
— "  Art  thou  acquainted  with  a  young  lady,"  I 
asked  Semyon,—"  a  friend  of  Ilya  Stepanitch's, 
named  Masha? " 

"Of  course  I  know  Marya  Anempodistovna ! 
She  's  a  nice  young  lady." 

"  Thy  master  was  in  love  with  that  Marya  .... 
and  so  forth." 

Semyon  heaved  a  sigh. — "  It  's  on  account  of 
that  young  lady  that  Ilya  Stepanitch  will  go  to 
destruction.  He  loves  her  frightfully — and  he 
can't  make  up  his  mind  to  take  her  as  his  spouse 
—and  he  's  sorry  to  abandon  her,  too.     That 

276 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

comes  from  his  lack  of  courage.  He  's  awfully 
fond  of  her." 

'And  what  is  she  like— pretty? "  I  inquired 
curiously. 

Semyon  assumed  a  serious  aspect. — "  Gentle- 
men like  such  as  she." 

"  And  is  she  to  thy  taste?  " 

1  For  us  ...  .  she  is  not  suited — not  at  all." 

"Why  not?" 

"  She  's  very  thin  in  body." 

"  If  she  were  to  die,"  I  began  again, — "  would 
Ilya  Stepanitch  survive  her,  thinkest  thou?  " 

Again  Semyon  heaved  a  sigh.  —  "  I  dare  not  say 
that — that  's  the  master's  affair.  .  .  .  Only,  our 
master — is  queer!  " 

I  took  from  the  table  the  large  and  fairly  thick 
letter  which  Tyegleff  had  given  to  me,  and  turned 
it  about  in  my  hands.  .  .  .  The  address  to  "  His 
High-Born,  Mr.  Battery  Commander,  Colonel 
and  Cavalier,"  with  name,  patronymic  and  sur- 
name indicated,  was  very  distinctly  and  care- 
fully written.  In  the  upper  corner  of  the  en- 
velope stood  the  word:  "  Important,"  twice  un- 
derlined. 

"  Hearken,  Semyon,"  I  began.  "  I  'm 
afraid  for  thy  master.  He  seems  to  have  evil 
thoughts  in  his  head.  We  must  find  him  without 
fail." 

"  I  obey,  sir,"  replied  Semyon. 

"  There  is  such  a  fog  outdoors  that  one  can 

277 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

distinguish  nothing  two  arshins  *  off,  it  is  true ; 
but  never  mind,  we  must  make  the  effort.  We 
will  each  take  a  lantern,  and  we  will  light  a  candle 
in  each  window — in  case  of  need." 

"  I  obey,  sir,"  repeated  Semyon.     He  lighted 
the  lanterns  and  the  candles  and  we  set  out. 

XV 

How  he  and  I  wandered  about,  how  entangled  we 
became,  it  is  impossible  to  convey  to  you!  The 
lanterns  did  not  help  us  in  the  least ;  they  did  not 
in  the  slightest  degree  disperse  that  white,  almost 
luminous  mist  which  surrounded  us.  Semyon 
and  I  lost  each  other  several  times  apiece,  despite 
the  fact  that  we  kept  exchanging  calls,  shouting 
"  a-oo!  "  and  I  kept  crying  out:  "  Tyegleff !  Ilya 
Stepanitch ! "  and  he :  "  Mr.  Tyegleff !  Your  Well- 
Born!  " — The  fog  threw  us  off  the  track  to  such 
a  degree  that  we  roamed  about  as  though  in  our 
sleep ;  both  of  us  speedily  grew  hoarse :  the  damp- 
ness penetrated  to  the  very  bottom  of  our  lungs. 
We  met  again,  by  some  means,  thanks  to  the 
lights  in  the  windows  at  the  cottage.  Our  com- 
bined explorations  had  led  to  nothing, — we  had 
merely  hampered  each  other,— and  therefore  we 
decided  not  to  think  any  more  of  how  to  avoid 
getting  separated,  but  that  each  of  us  should  go 

t  The  arshin— the  Russian  yard-measure— is  twenty-eight 
inches  in  length.  —  Translator. 

278 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  I 

his  own  road.  He  went  to  the  left,  I  to  the  right, 
and  I  soon  ceased  to  hear  his  voice.  The  fog 
seemed  to  have  made  its  way  into  my  very  brain, 
and  I  wandered  about  like  a  dazed  person,  merely 
shouting:  "  Tyegleff!    Tyegleff !  " 

"  Here!  "  suddenly  rang  out  in  response. 

Heavens!  How  delighted  I  was!  How  I 
rushed  in  the  direction  where  I  had  heard  the 
voice!  ....  A  human  figure  loomed  up  black 
ahead  of  me.  .  .  .  I  darted  at  it.  .  .  .  At  last! 

But  instead  of  Tyegleff  I  beheld  before  me 
another  officer  of  the  same  battery  named  Telep- 
nefF." 

"  Was  it  you  who  answered  me?"  I  asked  him. 

"  And  were  you  calling  me? "  he  inquired,  in 
his  turn. 

"  No;  I  was  calling  Tyegleff." 

"  Tyegleff?  Why,  I  met  him  only  a  moment 
ago.  What  an  absurd  night!  It  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  find  one's  way  home." 

"You  saw  Tyegleff?  In  which  direction  was 
he  going? " 

"In  that  direction— I  think."  The  officer 
passed  his  hand  through  the  air.—"  But  now  it  is 
impossible  to  understand  anything.  For  exam- 
ple, do  you  know  where  the  village  is?  The  only 
salvation  is  if  a  dog  should  begin  to  bark.  An 
abominable  night,  is  n't  it?  Allow  me  to  light 
a  cigar  ....  it  will  seem  to  illuminate  the 
road." 

279 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

The  officer  was  a  little  tipsy,  so  far  as  I  could 
make  out. 

"  Did  not  Tyegleff  say  anything  to  you?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Certainly  he  did!  '  How  art  thou,  brother? ' 
says  I  to  him.  And  he  says  to  me :  '  Fare- 
well, brother!' — 'Farewell?  Why  farewell?' — 
'  Why,'  says  he,  '  I  'm  going  to  shoot  m'self  with 
pistol 's  very  minute.'    A  queer  fellow ! ' 

I  gasped  for  breath. — "You  say  that  he  told 
you  .  .  .  ." 

"  A  queer  fellow!  "  repeated  the  officer,  as  he 
strode  awav  from  me. 

Before  I  could  recover  from  the  officer's  an- 
nouncement, my  own  name,  several  times  repeated 
in  a  violent  shout,  struck  my  ear.  I  recognised 
Semyon's  voice. 

I  responded.  .  .  .  He  approached  me. 

XVI 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  "  I  asked  him.  "  Hast  thou 
found  Ilya  Stepanitch?  " 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"Where?" 

"  Yonder,  not  far  from  here." 

"  How  didst  thou  ....  find  him?  Is  he 
alive?  " 

"Certainly;  I  conversed  with  him."  (My 
heart  was  lightened. )       '  He  is  sitting  under  a 

280 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

small  birch-tree,  in  his  cloak  ....  and  he  's  all 
right.  I  reported  to  him:  '  Please  come  to  your 
quarters,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  says  I,  '  Alexander 
Vasilitch  is  very  uneasy  about  you.'  But  he  says 
to  me : '  What  possesses  him  to  be  uneasy  ?  I  want 
to  be  in  the  fresh  air.  My  head  aches.  Go  home,' 
says  he.    '  I  '11  come  after  a  while.'  " 

'And  didst  thou  leave  him?'  I  exclaimed, 
wringing  my  hands. 

"And  why  not,  sir?  He  ordered  me  to  go 
away  ....  how  could  I  stay?  " 

All  my  terrors  returned  to  me  at  once. 

i  Lead  me  to  him  this  very  minute,  dost  hear? 
This  very  minute!  Ekh,  Semyon,  Semyon,  I  did 
not  expect  this  of  thee !  Thou  sayest  that  he  is  not 
far  from  here  ?  " 

'  Quite  close,  yonder  where  the  grove  begins — 
that  's  where  he  is  sitting.  About  two  fathoms — 
not  more — from  the  creek,  from  the  shore.  I 
found  him  by  going  along  the  creek." 

"  Come,  guide  me,  guide  me!  " 

Semyon   set   out.       '  Here,   this   way,  if   you 

please We  have  only  to  descend  to  the 

stream,  and  then  we  shall  immediately  .  .  .  ." 

But  instead  of  descending  to  the  creek  we  got 
into  some  sort  of  a  ravine  and  found  ourselves  in 
front  of  a  small,  empty  shed.  .  .  . 

'  Hey !  Halt !  "  suddenly  exclaimed  Semyon. 
"  I  must  have  gone  too  far  to  the  right.  .  .  .  We 
must  turn  more  to  the  left  here.  ..." 

281 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

We  went  further  to  the  left,  and  got  into  such 
a  dense  mass  of  steppe  grass  that  we  could  hardly 
extricate  ourselves  ...  so  far  as  I  could  recol- 
lect, there  was  no  such  high  grass  anywhere  in  the 
vicinity  of  our  village.  Then  suddenly  marshy 
ground  began  to  seep  under  our  feet,  and  round, 
mossy  tussocks,  which  I  had  never  seen,  either, 
began  to  make  their  appearance.  .  .  .  We  re- 
traced our  steps— before  us  uprose  a  hillock,  and 
on  the  hillock  stood  a  hovel,  and  in  it  some  one 
was  snoring.  Semyon  and  I  shouted  several  times 
into  the  hovel;  something  fumbled  about  in  its 
recesses,  straw  crackled,  and  a  hoarse  voice  ejac- 
ulated: "Po-o-li-i-ice!" 

Again  we  retraced  our  steps  ....  fields, 
fields,  interminable  fields.  .  .  . 

I  was  ready  to  weep.  ...  I  recalled  the  words 
of  the  fool  in  "  King  Lear  ":  "  This  cold  night 
will  turn  us  all  to  fools  and  madmen!  " 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  I  said,  in  despair,  to 
Semyon. 

"  Evidently,  master,  the  forest  fiend  has  cheated 
us,"  replied  the  discomfited  orderly.  "  There  's 
some  mischief  abroad.  .  .  .  An  evil  power  is  at 
work!" 

I  was  on  the  point  of  scolding  him,  but  at  that 
moment  there  reached  my  ear  an  isolated,  not  very 
loud  sound  which  instantly  attracted  my  entire 
attention.  Something  popped  faintly,  as  though 
some  one  had  extracted  a  tight-fitting  cork  from 

282 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

the  narrow  neck  of  a  bottle.  The  sound  rang  out 
not  far  from  the  spot  where  I  was  standing. 
Why  that  sound  seemed  to  me  peculiar  and 
strange  I  am  unable  to  say,  but  I  immediately 
walked  in  the  direction  whence  it  had  proceeded. 

Semyon  followed  me.  At  the  end  of  a  few  mo- 
ments something  tall  and  broad  loomed  up  darkly 
through  the  fog. 

"The  grove!  There  it  is,  the  grove!"  ex- 
claimed Semyon,  joyfully;  "and  yonder  .  .  .  . 
yonder  my  master  is  sitting  under  the  birch-tree, 
where  I  left  him.    'T  is  he  himself!  " 

I  looked  intently.  In  fact,  on  the  ground,  at 
the  foot  of  a  birch,  with  his  back  toward  us,  awk- 
wardly bent  over,  a  man  was  sitting.  I  briskly 
approached  him  and  recognised  Tyegleff's 
cloak,— recognised  his  figure,  his  head  bowed  on 
his  breast. 

"  Tyegleff!"  I  shouted.  ...  But  he  did  not 
reply. 

'Tyegleff!"  I  repeated,  laying  my  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

Then  he  suddenly  swayed  forward,  quickly 
and  obediently,  as  though  he  had  been  awaiting 
my  touch,  and  fell  prone  upon  the  grass.  Se- 
myon and  I  immediately  lifted  him  and  turned  his 
face  upward.  It  was  not  pale,  but  inanimately 
impassive ;  the  clenched  teeth  shone  white,  and  the 
eyes,  also,  motionless  and  open,  preserved  their 
customary  sleepy  and  "  mismatched  "  glance.  .  .  . 

283 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  O  Lord!  "—said  Semyon,  suddenly,  showing 
me  his  hand  crimsoned  with  blood.  .  .  .  This 
blood  was  flowing  from  beneath  Tyegleff's  un- 
fastened cloak,  from  the  left  side  of  his  breast. 

He  had  shot  himself  with  a  small,  single-bar- 
relled pistol  which  lay  there  by  his  side.  The 
faint  sound  which  I  had  heard  had  been  the  sound 
produced  by  the  fatal  shot. 

XVII 

Tyegleff's  suicide  did  not  greatly  surprise  his 
comrades.  I  have  already  told  you  that,  accord- 
ing to  their  view,  he,  as  a  "  fatal "  man,  was  bound 
to  indulge  in  some  unusual  performance,  although 
possibly  they  had  not  expected  from  him  pre- 
cisely this  caper.  In  his  letter  to  the  commander 
of  the  battery  he  requested  the  latter,  in  the  first 
place,  to  attend  to  having  Sub-Lieutenant  Ilya 
Tyegleff  stricken  from  the  rolls  as  a  suicide,  stat- 
ing, in  this  connection,  that  in  his  casket  there 
would  be  found  more  than  enough  ready  money 
to  pay  all  debts  which  might  be  claimed;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  to  transmit  to  an  important  per- 
sonage, who  then  was  in  command  of  all  the  corps 
of  the  Guard,  another,  unsealed  letter,  which  was 
enclosed  in  the  same  envelope.  We  all  read  this 
second  letter,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  several  of  us 
took  copies  of  it.  Tyegleff  had  obviously  toiled 
over  the  composition  of  that  letter. 

284 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  Just  see,  Your  Royal  Highness,"  1  thus  it 
began,  as  I  recall  it,  "  how  strict  you  are,  how 
sternly  you  punish  for  the  slightest  irregular- 
ity in  a  uniform,  for  the  most  insignificant  in- 
fringement of  regulations  when  a  poor,  trem- 
bling officer  presents  himself  before  you;  but 
now  I  am  presenting  myself  before  the  incor- 
ruptible, upright  Judge  of  us  all,  before  the  Su- 
preme Being,  before  the  Being  who  is  of  im- 
measurably greater  importance  than  even  Your 
Royal  Highness,  and  I  am  presenting  myself 
quite  simply,  in  my  cloak,  without  even  a  stock 
on  my  neck.  ..."  Akh,  what  an  oppressive 
and  unpleasant  impression  was  made  upon  me  by 
this  phrase,  every  word,  every  letter  of  which 
was  carefully  set  forth  in  the  dead  man's  child- 
ish chirography!  Was  it  really  worth  while,  I 
asked  myself — was  it  really  worth  while  to  de- 
vise such  nonsense  at  such  a  moment?  But 
Tyegleff  had,  evidently,  taken  a  liking  to  this 
phrase;  for  he  had  put  in  play  all  the  heaping 
up  of  epithets  and  amplifications,  a  la  Mdrlin- 
sky,  which  was  then  in  fashion.  Further  on  he 
alluded  to  Fate,  to  persecution,  to  his  mission, 
which  would  remain  unfulfilled;  to  the  secret 
which  he  was  carrying  with  him  into  the  grave; 
to  the  people  who  had   refused  to  understand 

1  The  title  is  intentionally  abbreviated  in  the  original,  and  the  word 
might  mean  either  Majesty,  or  Royal  Highness  as  printed.  The 
latter  must  be  intended,  and  probably  the  Grand  Duke  Mikhail 
Pavlovitch,  a  renowned  martinet,  in  particular.  — Tkansla toe. 

285- 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

him;  he  even  quoted  the  verses  of  some  poet  or 
other  who  had  said  of  the  crowd  that  it  wears 
life  "  like  a  dog's  collar,"  and  eats  into  vice  "  like 
a  burdock"— and  all  this  not  without  ortho- 
graphical errors.  Truth  to  tell,  this  ante-mor- 
tem letter  of  poor  Tyegleff  was  decidedly  in- 
sipid, and  I  can  imagine  the  scornful  surprjse 
of  the  exalted  personage  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed; I  can  imagine  in  what  a  tone  he  must 
have  ejaculated:  "A  worthless  officer!  A  good 
riddance  to  bad  rubbish !  "  Just  before  the  end 
of  the  letter  a  genuine  cry  burst  from  Tyegleff 's 
heart.  "  Akh,  Your  Royal  Highness!  "  thus  he 
wound  up  his  epistle,—"  I  am  an  orphan,  I  have 
had  no  one  to  love  me  from  my  childhood,  and 
every  one  has  fought  shy  of  me  ....  and  the 
only  heart  which  gave  itself  to  me  I  myself  have 
destroyed ! " 

In  the  pocket  of  Tyegleff 's  cloak  Semyon 
found  the  tiny  album  from  which  his  master 
never  parted.  But  almost  all  the  leaves  had  been 
torn  out;  only  one  remained  intact,  upon  which 
stood  the  following  calculation: 


Napoleon,  born  Aug. 

15,          Ilya  Tye*gleff, 

born  Jan. 

7, 

1769. 

1811. 

1769 

1811 

15 

7 

8  (Aug.   is 

eighth                 1  (Jan 

.is  first  month 

month 

in  year.) 

in  year.) 

Total  1792 

Total  1819 
286 

KNOCK  .  .  i  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

1  1 

7  8 

9  1 

2  9 


Total      19! 

Total     19! 

Napoleon  died  May  5, 

Ilya  Tyegleff  died  July  21, 

1825. 

1834. 

1825 

1834 

5 

21 

5  (May  is  fifth  month               7  (July  is  seventh 

in  year.) 

month  in  year.) 

Total  1835 

Total  1862 

1 

1 

8 

8 

8 

6 

5 

2 

Total      17!  Total      17! 

Poor  fellow !  Was  not  that  the  reason  that  he 
had  entered  the  artillery? 

They  buried  him,  being  a  suicide,  outside  the 
cemetery,  and  immediately  forgot  him. 

XVIII 

On  the  day  after  Tyegleff's  funeral  (I  was  still 
in  the  village,  awaiting  my  brother)  Semyon  en- 
tered the  cottage  and  announced  that  Ilya  wished 
to  see  me. 

"What  Ilya?"  I  asked. 

287 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .      .KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  Why,  our  pedlar." 

I  ordered  him  to  be  called  in. 

He  presented  himself.  He  expressed  some 
slight  regret  concerning  the  sub-lieutenant,  and 
surprise  that  he  should  have  taken  such  a  thing 
into  his  head.  .  .  . 

"  Was  he  in  debt  to  thee  ? "  I  asked. 

'  Not  at  all,  sir.  Whatever  he  bought  from  me 
he  paid  for  punctually  on  the  spot.  But  it 's  this, 
sir.  .  .  ."  Here  the  pedlar  grinned. — "You 
have  a  small  article  of  mine.  .  .  ." 

"  What  article?  " 

"Why,  that  one,  sir."  He  pointed  with  his 
finger  at  the  carved  comb  which  was  lying  on  the 
toilet-table.  —  "  'T  is  an  article  of  small  value,  sir," 
—went  on  the  huckster,— "but  seeing  that  I  re- 
ceived it  as  a  present  .  .  ." 

I  suddenly  raised  my  head.  An  idea  struck  me 
like  a  flash  of  light. 

"  Is  thy  name  Ilya? " 

"  Exactly  so,  sir." 

"  So  it  was  thee  whom  I  .  .  .  found  the  other 
day  ....  under  the  willow?" 

The  pedlar  winked  and  grinned  still  more 
broadly. 

"  T  was  me,  sir." 

"  And  it  was  thee  whom  some  one  was  calling?  f 

"  'T  was  me,  sir,"  repeated  the  pedlar,  with 
playful  modesty.  "  There 's  a  lass  yonder,"  he 
went  on,  in  a  falsetto  voice,  "who,  on  account 

288 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

of  very  great  strictness  on  the  part  of  her 
parents  .  .  .  ." 

"  Good,  good,"  I  interrupted  him,  handing  him 
the  comb  and  sending  him  away. 

So  that  was  the  "  Iliiisha,"— I  thought,  and 
plunged  into  philosophical  reflections  which,  how- 
ever, I  will  not  repeat  to  you,  for  I  have  no  in- 
tention of  preventing  any  one  from  believing  in 
Fate,  predestination,  and  other  fatalities. 

On  returning  to  Petersburg  I  made  inquiries 
about  Masha.  I  even  hunted  up  the  doctor  who 
had  attended  her.  To  my  amazement,  I  learned 
from  him  that  she  did  not  die  of  poison  but  of 
the  cholera!  I  communicated  to  him  what  I  had 
heard  from  Tyegleff. 

"  Ho!  ho!  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  Was  that 
Tyegleff  an  artillery  officer  of  medium  height 
with  round  shoulders  and  a  lisp?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that  's  it  exactly.  That  gentleman 
presented  himself  to  me— I  beheld  him  then  for 
the  first  time— and  began  to  insist  upon  it  that  the 
girl  had  poisoned  herself.  '  It  was  the  cholera,' 
said  I.  '  It  was  poison,'  said  he.  '  But  'twas  the 
cholera,'  said  I.  '  But  't  was  poison,'  said  he.  I 
saw  that  the  man  was  rather  daft,  with  a  broad 
nape  which  indicates  stubbornness,  and  it  would 
not  be  a  short  job  to  get  rid  of  him.  ...  It 
makes  no  difference,  I  thought  to  myself;  the 
patient  is  dead  anyway.  .  .  .     Well,  then,'  said  I, 

289 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

1  she  did  poison  herself,  if  that  is  more  agreeable 
to  you.'  He  thanked  me,  he  even  shook  hands 
with  me — and  took  himself  off." 

I  told  the  doctor  how  that  same  officer  had  shot 
himself  that  very  same  day. 

The  doctor  never  so  much  as  moved  an  eyebrow 
— and  merely  remarked  that  there  were  various 
sorts  of  eccentric  folk  in  the  world. 

"  There  are,"  I  repeated  after  him. 

Yes,  some  one  has  truly  said  concerning  sui- 
cides that  until  they  carry  out  their  design  no  one 
believes  them ;  and  if  they  do,  no  one  regrets  them. 


290 


THE  WATCH 

(1875) 


:nrr 


■ 


THE  WATCH 

AN  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 


i 


WILL  tell  you  my  story  about  the  watch. . . . 
A  curious  story ! 
The  affair  took  place  at  the  very  beginning 
of  the  present  century,  in  the  year  1801.  I  had 
just  entered  my  sixteenth  year.  I  lived  in  Rya- 
zan, in  a  little  wooden  house  not  far  from  the 
bank  of  the  Oka,  with  my  father,  my  aunt,  and 
my  cousin.  I  do  not  remember  my  mother;  she 
died  three  years  after  her  marriage.  My  father 
had  no  children  except  me.  His  name  was  Por- 
firy  Petrovitch.  He  was  a  peaceable  man,  not 
good-looking,  and  sickly;  his  business  consisted 
of  prosecuting  lawsuits — and  of  other  things. 
In  former  times  men  like  him  were  called  petti- 
foggers, shysters,  nettle-seed;  he  dignified  him- 
self with  the  title  of  lawyer.  Our  domestic  af- 
fairs were  presided  over  by  his  sister,  my  aunt, 
— an  old  maid  of  fifty;  my  father  also  was  over 
forty*    She  was  a  very  pious  woman— i to  speak 

203 


THE  WATCH 

the  plain  truth,  a  hypocrite,  a  tattler,  and  given 
to  poking  her  nose  into  everything ;  and  her  heart 
was  not  like  my  father's— it  was  not  kind.  We 
did  not  live  poorly,  but  on  the  verge  of  that. 
My  father  had  also  a  brother,  Egor1  by  name; 
but  he  had  been  sent  to  Siberia  for  some  alleged 
"seditious  acts  and  Jacobinical  manner  of 
thought"— or  other  (precisely  so  did  it  stand  in 
the  decree). 

Egor's  son,  David,  my  cousin,  was  left  on 
my  father's  hands  and  lived  with  us.  He  was 
only  one  year  older  than  I;  but  I  abased  myself 
before  him  and  obeyed  him  as  though  he  had 
been  a  full-grown  man.  He  was  far  from  a 
stupid  lad,  with  strong  character,  broad-shoul- 
dered, stockily  built,  with  a  square  face  all  cov- 
ered with  freckles,  red  hair,  grey  eyes,  small, 
broad  lips,  a  short  nose,  also  short  fingers — what 
is  called  a  strong  man — and  with  a  strength  be- 
yond his  years.  My  aunt  could  not  bear  him; 
and  my  father  was  even  afraid  of  him  ...  or, 
perhaps  he  felt  himself  culpable  toward  him.  A 
rumour  was  current  that  had  not  my  father 
blabbed,  David's  father  would  not  have  been  ex- 
iled to  Siberia!  We  both  studied  in  the  gym- 
nasium, in  the  same  class,  and  both  did  pretty 
well;  I  even  a  trifle  better  than  David.  ...  I 
had  a  keen  memory;  but  boys— as  every  one 
knows— do  not  prize  that  superiority  and  do  not 

lThat  is,  George;  pronounced  Yeg6r. — T&axslator. 

294 


THE  WATCH 

plume  themselves  on  it,  and  David  remained, 
nevertheless,  my  leader. 


II 

My  name,  as  you  know,  is  Alexyei.  I  was  born 
on  the  seventh  of  March,  and  my  name-day 
comes  on  the  seventeenth.  According  to  ancient 
custom,  they  bestowed  upon  me  the  name  of  one 
of  those  saints  whose  day  falls  upon  the  tenth  day 
after  the  child's  birth.  My  godfather  was  a 
certain  Anastasy  Anastasievitch  Putchkoff ;  or, 
properly  speaking,  Nastasyei,  Nastasyeitch;  no 
one  ever  called  him  anything  else.  He  was  a 
frightfully-litigious  man,  a  caviller  and  bribe- 
taker— a  bad  man  altogether;  he  had  been  ex- 
pelled from  the  Governor's  chancellery,  and  had 
been  indicted  more  than  once ;  he  was  necessary  to 
my  father.  .  .  .  They  "  did  business  "  in  company. 
He  was  plump  and  round  in  person ;  but  his  face 
was  like  that  of  a  fox,  with  an  awl-shaped  nose; 
his  bright  brown  eyes  were  also  like  those  of  a 
fox.  And  he  kept  those  eyes  of  his  in  incessant 
motion,  to  right  and  left,  and  kept  his  nose  in  mo- 
tion also,  as  though  he  were  sniffing  the  air.  He 
wore  heelless  shoes  and  powdered  his  hair  every 
day,  which  was  then  regarded  as  a  great  rarity  in 
country  parts.  He  was  wont  to  declare  that  he 
could  not  get  along  without  powder,  as  he  was 

295 


THE  WATCH 

obliged  to  consort  with  generals  and  general- 
esses. 

So,  then,  my  name-day  arrives.  Nastasyei 
Nastasyeitch  comes  to  our  house  and  says: 

"  Up  to  this  time,  godson,  I  have  never  given 
thee  anything;  but  just  see  what  I  have  brought 
thee  to-day! " 

And  thereupon  he  pulls  out  of  his  pocket  a 
bulbous  silver  watch,  with  a  rose  painted  on  the 
face,  and  a  brass  chain!  I  was  fairly  dumb- 
founded with  rapture,— but  my  aunt,  Pulkhe- 
riya  1  Petrovna,  began  to  scream  at  the  top  of  her 
voice : 

"  Kiss  his  hand,  kiss  his  hand,  dirty  brat! " 

I  began  to  kiss  my  godfather's  hand,  while  my 
aunt  kept  interpolating: 

"Akh,  dear  little  father,  Nastasyei  Nastasye- 
itch, why  do  you  spoil  him  so?  How  will  he  be 
able  to  manage  a  watch?  He  '11  drop  it,  for  a 
certainty,  and  will  smash  it  or  break  it!'; 

My  father  entered  the  room,  looked  at  the 
watch,  thanked  Nastasyeitch  in  a  careless  sort 
of  way,  and  asked  him  to  come  into  his  study. 
And  I  heard  my  father  saying,  as  though  to 
himself: 

"  If  thou  hast  taken  it  into  thy  head,  my  good 
fellow,  to  get  out  of  it  in  this  way  .  .  .  ." 

But  I  could  not  stand  still  on  one  spot  any 

1  Turgenieff  calls  her  part  of  the  time  Pelageya,  part  of  the  time 
Pulkheriya. — Translator. 

296 


THE  WATCH 

longer,  so  I  put  on  my  watch  and  rushed  off 
headlong  to  show  my  gift  to  David. 

Ill 

David  took  the  watch,  opened  it  and  scrutinised 
it  attentively.  He  had  great  gifts  in  the  me- 
chanical line ;  he  was  fond  of  tinkering  with  iron, 
brass,  and  all  metals;  he  had  provided  himself 
with  various  instruments,  and  to  repair  a  screw, 
or  a  key— or  make  an  entirely  new  one,  and  so 
forth,  was  nothing  for  him. 

David  turned  the  watch  about  in  his  hands,  and 
muttered  through  his  teeth  (he  was,  in  general, 
not  talkative)  : 

"  Old  ....  bad.  .  .  .  Where  didst  thou  get 
it?"  he  added. 

I  told  him  that  my  godfather  had  given  it  to 
me. 

David  turned  his  small  grey  eyes  on  me: 
Nastasyei?" 
Yes;  Nastasyei  Nastasyeitch." 

David  laid  the  watch  on  the  table  and  walked 
off  in  silence. 

"  Dost  not  thou  like  it? "  I  asked. 

"  No;  that  \s  not  it.  .  .  .  But  if  I  were  in  thy 
place,  I  would  n't  accept  any  gift  from  Nasta- 
syei." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he  is  a  worthless  man ;  and  one  should 

297 


THE  WATCH 

not  lay  himself  under  obligations  to  a  worthless 
man.    I  suppose  thou  didst  kiss  his  hand? " 

"  Yes,  aunty  made  me." 

David  laughed, — in  a  peculiar  sort  of  way, 
through  his  nose.  It  was  a  habit  of  his.  He 
never  laughed  aloud;  he  regarded  laughter  as  a 
sign  of  pusillanimity. 

David's  words,  his  noiseless  smile,  pained  me 
deeply.  He  must  be  blaming  me  inwardly,  I 
thought!  I  must  also  be  a  worthless  creature  in 
his  eyes!  He  would  never  have  lowered  himself 
to  that,  he  would  not  have  accepted  a  gift  from 
Nastasyei!    But  what  was  left  for  me  to  do  now? 

It  was  impossible  to  give  back  the  watch ! 

I  made  an  effort  to  talk  with  David,  to  ask 
his  advice.  He  answered  me  that  he  never  gave 
advice  to  any  one,  and  that  I  must  act  as  I  saw 
fit.— "  As  I  saw  fit? "  I  remember  that  I  did  not 
sleep  all  night  afterward;  I  was  tortured  by 
thought.  I  was  sorry  to  part  from  the  watch — so 
I  placed  it  beside  my  bed,  on  the  night-stand; 
it  ticked  so  pleasingly  and  amusingly.  .  .  But 
to  feel  that  David  despised  me  ....  (but  it  was 
impossible  to  deceive  myself  on  that  score !  he  did 
despise  me!)  .  .  .  seemed  to  me  unbearable! 
Toward  morning  my  decision  matured.  ...  I 
cried  a  little,  to  tell  the  truth,  but  I  went  to  sleep 
after  that,  and  as  soon  as  I  awoke  I  dressed  my- 
self in  haste,  and  ran  out  into  the  street.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  give  my  watch  away  to  the 
first  beggar  I  met. 

298 


THE  WATCH 


IV 


I  had  not  succeeded  in  running  very  far  from  the 
house  when  I  hit  upon  that  of  which  I  was  in 
search.  I  came  across  a  barefooted,  tattered  ur- 
chin aged  ten,  who  often  lounged  past  our  win- 
dows. I  immediately  ran  up  to  him,  and  without 
giving  either  him  or  myself  time  to  change  our 
minds,  I  offered  him  my  watch. 

The  lad  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  screened 
his  mouth  with  one  hand,  as  though  he  were 
afraid  of  scorching  himself,  and  stretched  out 
the  other. 

'  Take  it,  take  it,"  I  stammered,—"  it  is  mine; 
I  make  thee  a  present  of  it;  thou  mayest  sell  it 
and  buy  thyself  .  .  .  Well,  then,  something 
thou  needest.  .  .  .  Good-bye ! " 

I  thrust  the  watch  into  his  hand,  and  started 
for  home  at  full  tilt.  After  standing  for  a  while 
behind  the  door  in  our  common  bedroom  and 
getting  my  breath,  I  stepped  up  to  David,  who 
had  only  just  completed  his  toilet  and  was  brush- 
ing his  hair.  "  Here,  David,"  I  began,  in  as  calm 
a  voice  as  I  could  command,—"  I  have  given 
away  Nastasyei's  watch." 

David  glanced  at  me  as  he  passed  the  brush 
over  his  temples. 

"  Yes,"  I  added,  in  the  same  business-like  tone, 
"  I  have  given  it  away.  There  's  a  very  poor  lit- 
tle boy  out  there,  a  beggar;  so  I  gave  it  to  him." 

299 


THE  WATCH 

David  laid  down  his  brush  on  the  wash-stand. 

"  For  the  money  which  he  can  get  for  it,"  I 
wrent  on,  "he  can  purchase  some  useful  article. 
He  will  get  something  for  it,  anyhow." 

I  ceased  speaking. 

"Well,  all  right!  'T  is  a  good  thing!"  said 
David  at  last,  and  went  off  to  the  school-room. 

I  followed  him. 

"And  what  if  thou  art  asked  what  thou  hast 
done  with  it? " — he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"  I  will  say  that  I  have  lost  it,"  I  replied  care- 
lessly. 

We  said  nothing  further  to  each  other  that  dav 
about  the  watch;  but,  nevertheless,  it  struck  me 
that  David  not  only  approved  of  me,  but  even,  to 
a  certain  degree,  was  amazed  at  me. — Really! 


Two  days  more  passed.  It  so  happened  that  no 
one  in  the  house  bethought  himself  of  the  watch. 
My  father  had  a  very  great  row  with  one  of 
his  clients;  he  was  in  no  mood  to  think  of  me 
or  of  my  watch.  On  the  other  hand,  I  thought 
of  it  incessantly!  Even  the  approbation  .  .  .  . 
the  presumptive  approbation  of  David  did  not 
afford  me  much  consolation.  He  did  not  express 
it  in  any  particular  manner;  he  never  said  but 

300 


THE  WATCH 

once— and  that  in  passing— that  he  had  not  ex- 
pected such  daring  from  me.  Positively,  my  sac- 
rifice had  been  a  disadvantage  to  me;  it  was  not 
counterbalanced  by  the  satisfaction  which  my 
vanity  afforded. 

But  at  this  point,  as  though  expressly,  there 
must  needs  turn  up  another  gymnasium  lad,  an 
acquaintance  of  ours,  the  son  of  the  town  phy- 
sician, and  begin  to  brag  of  a  new  watch — of 
pinchbeck,  not  of  silver — which  his  grandmother 
had  given  him.  ...  At  last  I  could  hold  out  no 
longer,  and  slipping  quietly  out  of  the  house,  I 
set  forth  to  hunt  up  that  beggar  lad  to  whom 
I  had  given  my  watch. 

I  soon  found  him ;  he,  together  with  other  boys, 
was  playing  at  knuckle-bones  on  the  church 
porch.  I  called  him  to  one  side,  and,  panting  and 
entangling  myself  in  my  speech,  I  told  him  that 
my  family  were  angry  with  me  for  having  given 
away  my  watch,  and  that  if  he  would  consent  to 
restore  it  to  me,  I  would  gladly  pay  him  money 
for  it.  ...  I  had  taken  with  me,  in  case  of 
emergency,  an  old-fashioned  ruble  of  the  time  of 
the  Empress  Elizabeth,  which  constituted  my  en- 
tire cash  capital.  .  .  . 

'  Why,  I  have  n't  got  it,  that  watch  of  yours," 
— replied  the  urchin,  in  an  angry,  snivelling 
voice.  "  Daddy  saw  it  and  took  it  away  from  me ; 
and  he  was  going  to  thrash  me  to  boot.     '  Thou 

301 


THE  WATCH 

must  have  stolen  it  somewhere,'  said  he.  '  What 
fool  would  give  thee  a  watch? '  " 

"  And  who  is  thy  father  ? " 

"My  father?    Trofimitch." 

"  But  who  is  he?    What  is  his  business? " 

"  He  's  a  retired  soldier— a  srageant.  And  he 
has  n't  any  business.  He  cobbles  old  shoes,  and 
sews  on  soles.  That  's  all  the  business  he  has. 
And  he  lives  by  it." 

"  Where  is  your  lodging?    Take  me  to  him." 

"I  '11  take  you.  You  just  say  to  him,  to  my 
daddy,  that  you  gave  me  the  watch.  For  he  is 
scolding  me  all  the  time.  '  Thou  'rt  a  thief ;  yes, 
a  thief ! '  And  my  mother  does  the  same :  '  From 
whom  didst  thou  inherit  this  thieving? '  says  she." 

The  boy  and  I  wended  our  way  to  his  lodging. 
It  was  situated  in  a  fowl-house,  in  the  back  yard 
of  a  factory  which  had  been  burned  down  long, 
long  before  and  never  rebuilt.  We  found  both 
Trofimitch  and  his  wife  at  home.  The  retired 
"  srageant "  was  a  tall  old  man,  sinewy  and  erect, 
with  yellowish-grey  side-whiskers,  unshaven  chin, 
and  a  whole  network  of  wrinkles  on  his  cheeks 
and  forehead.  His  wife  appeared  to  be  older 
than  he;  her  little  red  eyes  blinked  and  puckered 
mournfully  in  the  midst  of  a  bloated  and  sickly 
face.  Both  of  them  were  draped  in  some  sort  of 
dark  rags  instead  of  garments. 

I  explained  the  affair  to  Trofimitch,  and  why 
I  had  come.    He  listened  to  me  in  silence,  never 

302 


THE  WATCH 

once  winking,  or  removing  from  me  his  dull  and 
strained,  regular  soldier's  glance. 

"Mischievous  tricks!"  he  said  at  last,  in  a 
hoarse,  toothless  voice.— "Do  well-born  gentle- 
men behave  like  that?  But  if  Petka  really  did 
not  steal  the  watch— I'll  give  it  to  him  for 
that!— w-w- whack!  Take  that  for  playing  with 
young  gentlemen!  But  if  he  had  stolen  it  I 
would  n't  have  treated  him  like  that!  w-whack! 
w-whack !  w-whack !  with  rods,  in  calergard  ? 
style!  Who  cares?  What 's  that?  Hey?  Give 
him  the  spontoons!  So  that  's  the  story?  ! 
Faugh!" 

This  last  exclamation  Trofimitch  uttered  in  a 
falsetto  voice.    He  was  evidently  perplexed. 

"If  you  will  return  my  watch  to  me,"  I  ex- 
plained to  him  ....  I  did  not  dare  to  address 
him  as  "  thou,"  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
was  a  common  soldier  ....  'I  will  pay  you 
this  ruble  with  pleasure.  I  don't  suppose  it  is 
worth  any  more  than  that." 

"  C-c-come!"— growled  Trofimitch,  without 
recovering  from  his  perplexity,  and  devouring  me 
with  his  eyes,  out  of  old  habit,  as  though  I  had 
been  some  superior  officer  or  other.  — "A  fine 
business— hey?— Well  now,  just  think  of  it!  .  .  . 
Hold  thy  tongue,  Ulyana!"  he  snarled  at  his 
wife,  who  had  begun  to  open  her  mouth.— 
"  Here  's  the  watch,"  he  added,  opening  the  table 

1  Cavalier-guard.— 'Ibanslatoh. 

303 


THE  WATCH 

drawer. — "  If  it  really  is  yours,  please  to  take  it. 
But  what's  the  ruble  for?    Hey?" 

"Take  the  ruble,  Trofimitch,  good-for-no- 
thing! "  roared  his  wife.—"  The  old  man  has  out- 
lived his  mind !  He  has  n't  a  penny  to  his  name, 
and  here  he  is  putting  on  pompous  airs!  'T  was 
in  vain  they  cut  off  thy  queue,  for  thou  art  as 
much  of  a  woman  as  ever!— so  thou  art— and 
knowest  nothing.  Accept  the  money,  if  thou  hast 
taken  it  into  thy  head  to  give  back  the  watch ! " 

"Hold  thy  tongue,  Ulyana,  thou  good-for- 
nothing!"  repeated  Trofimitch.— "Who  ever 
heard  of  a  woman's  putting  in  her  word?  Hey? 
The  husband  is  the  head;  but  she  puts  in  her 
word!  Petka,  don't  stir  or  I  '11  kill  thee!  .  .  . 
Here  's  the  watch!"  Trofimitch  reached  out 
the  watch  to  me,  but  did  not  let  it  out  of  his  fin- 
gers. 

He  pondered,  dropped  his  eyes,  then  riveted 
upon  me  the  same  intently-dull  gaze,  and  sud- 
denly began  to  bawl  at  the  top  of  his  lungs: 

"  But  where  is  it?    Where  's  that  ruble? " 

"  Here  it  is,  here,"  I  hastily  said,  pulling  the 
money  from  my  pocket. 

But  he  did  not  take  it,  and  kept  staring  at  me. 
I  laid  the  ruble  on  the  table.  He  suddenly  swept 
it  into  the  drawer,  flung  my  watch  at  me,  and 
wheeling  round  to  the  left  and  stamping  his  foot 
violently,  he  hissed  at  his  wife  and  son: 

"Begone,  riff  raff!" 

304. 


THE  WATCH 

Ulyana  stammered  something  or  other,  but  I 
had  already  darted  out  into  the  courtyard,  into 
the  street.  Thrusting  my  watch  to  the  very  bot- 
tom of  my  pocket,  and  gripping  it  tightly  in  my 
hand,  I  dashed  headlong  homeward. 


VI 

I  had  again  entered  into  possession  of  my  watch, 
but  got  no  satisfaction  whatever  out  of  it.  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  wear  it;  I  must  hide 
it  most  of  all  from  David,  which  I  did.  What 
would  he  think  of  me  and  my  lack  of  character? 
I  could  not  even  lock  that  unlucky  watch  up  in 
a  drawer.  We  had  all  our  drawers  in  common. 
I  was  forced  to  hide  it,  now  on  the  top  of  the 
wardrobe,  now  under  the  mattress,  now  behind 
the  stove.  .  .  .  And  yet  I  did  not  succeed  in  de- 
ceiving David! 

One  day,  having  the  watch  out  from  under  the 
floor  of  our  room,  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  rub 
up  its  silver  back  with  an  old  chamois-skin  glove. 
David  had  gone  off  somewhere  in  the  town ;  I  was 
not  in  the  least  expecting  that  he  would  speedily 
return  .  .  .  when  suddenly  in  he  walked ! 

I  was  so  disconcerted  that  I  almost  dropped  the 
watch,  and,  all  abashed,  with  face  flushing  to  a 
painful  degree,  I  set  to  sliding  it  about  over  my 
waistcoat,  being  utterly  unable  to  hit  my  pocket. 

305 


THE  WATCH 

David  looked  at  me,  and  smiled  silently,  ac- 
cording to  his  wont. 

"What  ails  thee?"  he  said  at  last.— "Dost 
thou  think  I  did  not  know  that  thou  hadst  the 
watch  again?  I  saw  it  the  very  first  day  thou 
didst  bring  it  back." 

"  I  assure  thee,"  I  began,  almost  in  tears  .... 

David  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  watch  is  thine;  thou  art  free  to  do  with 
it  what  thou  wilt." 

Having  uttered  these  cruel  words,  he  left  the 
room. 

Despair  seized  upon  me.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it  this  time;  David  really  did  despise  me! 

Matters  could  not  be  left  in  this  condition. 

"I  '11  just  show  him!"  I  thought  to  myself, 
setting  my  teeth;  and  immediately  betaking  my- 
self with  firm  tread  to  the  anteroom,  I  hunted  up 
our  page-boy  Yushka,  and  made  him  a  present  of 
the  watch! 

Yushka  tried  to  decline  it,  but  I  declared  to 
him  that  if  he  did  not  take  that  watch  from  me 
I  would  smash  it  on  the  instant,  I  would  trample 
it  under  foot,  I  would  fling  it  into  the  cesspool! 
He  reflected,  giggled,  and  took  the  watch.  And 
I  returned  to  our  room,  and  seeing  David,  who 
was  engaged  in  reading  a  book,  I  told  him  what 
I  had  done. 

David  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  the  page, 
and  again  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  smil- 

306 


THE  WATCH 

ing  to  himself,— "The  watch  is  thine,  and  thou 
art  free  to  dispose  of  it." 

But  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  despised  me  some- 
what less. 

I  was  fully  convinced  that  I  should  never  again 
subject  myself  to  a  fresh  reproach  for  lack  of 
character;  for  that  watch,  that  hateful  gift  of 
my  hateful  godfather,  had  suddenly  become  so 
loathsome  to  me  that  I  even  was  not  able  to  com- 
prehend how  I  had  regretted  it,  how  I  could  have 
wheedled  it  out  of  that  person  named  Trof  imitch, 
who,  moreover,  still  had  a  right  to  think  that  he 
had  treated  me  with  magnanimity. 

Several  days  passed.  ...  I  remember  that  on 
one  of  them  a  great  piece  of  news  reached  our 
town;  the  Emperor  Paul  was  dead,  and  his  son 
Alexander,  concerning  whose  benignity  and  hu- 
manity such  good  rumours  were  in  circulation, 
had  ascended  the  throne.  This  news  threw  David 
into  a  frightful  state  of  agitation;  the  possibility 
of  seeing  his  father,  of  seeing  him  soon,  immedi- 
ately presented  itself  to  him.  My  papa  was  also 
delighted. 

"  All  exiles  will  now  be  brought  back  from  Si- 
beria, and  I  suppose  they  will  not  forget  brother 
Egor  either,"  he  kept  repeating,  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands  and  cleared  his  throat,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  appeared  to  be  struck  with  consternation. 

David  and  I  immediately  ceased  to  work,  and 
did  not  go  to  the  gymnasium;  we  did  not  even 

807 


THE  WATCH 

stroll  about,  but  sat  constantly  somewhere  in  a 
corner,  reckoning  up  and  discussing  in  how  many 
months,  how  many  weeks,  how  many  days  "  bro- 
ther Egor  "  would  be  brought  back,  and  where 
we  might  write  to  him,  and  how  we  should  go  to 
meet  him,  and  in  what  manner  we  should  begin 
to  live  afterward.  "  Brother  Egor  "  was  an  ar- 
chitect; David  and  I  decided  that  he  must  settle 
in  Moscow  and  there  erect  great  school-houses  for 
poor  people,  while  we  would  act  as  his  assistants. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  we  completely  forgot  the 
watch;  moreover,  new  anxieties  had  cropped  up 
for  David  ....  of  which  more  hereafter;  but 
the  watch  was  destined  to  remind  us  of  its  exist- 
ence. 

VII 

One  morning  just  as  we  had  finished  breakfast, 
I  was  sitting  alone  near  the  window  and  medi- 
tating about  my  uncle's  return — an  April  thaw 
was  steaming  and  glittering  out  of  doors — when 
suddenly  Pulkheriya  Petrovna  ran  into  the  room. 
She  was  fussy  and  fidgety  at  all  times,  talked  in 
a  squeaking  voice,  and  was  incessantly  flourishing 
her  hands,  but  on  this  occasion  she  fairly  pounced 
upon  me. 

"Come  along!  come  along  to  thy  father  this 
very  instant,  young  sir!"  she  cackled.  "What 
pranks  are  these  thou  hast  been  up  to,   thou 

308 


THE  WATCH 

shameless  wretch?— You  '11  catch  it,  both  of  you! 
Nastasyei  Nastasyeitch  has  brought  all  your 
tricks  to  light.  .  .  .  Come  along!  Thy  father 
wants  thee.  .  .  .  Go  this  very  instant!" 

Still  comprehending  nothing,  I  followed  my 
aunt ;  and  as  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  draw- 
ing-room I  beheld  my  father  pacing  back  and 
forth  with  huge  strides,  and  rumpling  up  his  crest 
of  hair,  Yiishka  in  tears  by  the  door,  and  in  the 
corner,  on  a  chair,  my  godfather,  Nastasyei  Nas- 
tasyeitch,  with  an  expression  of  peculiarly-malign 
joy  in  his  inflated  nostrils  and  blazing,  squinting 
eyes. 

As  soon  as  I  entered,  my  father  flew  at  me. 

"Didst  thou  give  the  watch  to  Yiishka? 
Tell  me!" 

I  glanced  at  Yiishka.  ... 

"  Come,  speak! "  repeated  my  father,  stamping 
his  foot. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  and  immediately  received  a 
swingeing  box  on  the  ear,  which  afforded  great 
satisfaction  to  my  aunt.  I  heard  her  grunt,  ex- 
actly as  though  she  had  swallowed  a  mouthful 
of  boiling  tea.— From  me  my  father  rushed  to 
Yiishka. 

"  And  thou,  scoundrel,  shouldst  not  have  pre- 
sumed to  accept  the  watch  as  a  gift,"  he  said,  pull- 
ing the  boy  about  by  his  hair; — "and  thou  hast 
sold  it  into  the  bargain,  thou  rascal ! " 

Yiishka,  as  I  afterward  learned,  in  simplic- 

309 


THE  WATCH 

ity  of  heart,  actually  had  carried  my  watch  to 
a  neighbouring  watchmaker.  —  The  watchmaker 
had  hung  it  up  in  his  window;  Nastasyei  Nas- 
tasyeitch  had  espied  it  in  passing,  had  purchased 
it  and  brought  it  to  our  house. 

But  the  chastisement  of  myself  and  Yiishka 
did  not  last  long;  my  father  got  to  panting,  and 
began  to  cough;  and  it  was  not  in  his  nature, 
either,  to  get  angry. 

"Dear  brother,  Porfiry  Petrovitch,"  said  my 
aunt,  as  soon  as  she  saw — not  without  some  re- 
gret, of  course— that  my  father's  wrath  had  died 
down,  as  the  saying  is, — "pray,  do  not  worry 
yourself  further;  it  is  not  worth  soiling  your 
hands  about.  But  this  is  what  I  would  suggest: 
with  the  consent  of  our  respected  Nastasyei  Nas- 
tasyeitch,  and  by  reason  of  your  little  son's  great 
ingratitude,  I  will  take  possession  of  this  watch; 
and  since  he  has  shown  by  his  act  that  he  is  un- 
worthy to  wear  it,  and  does  not  even  understand 
its  value,  I  will  make  a  gift  of  it,  in  your  name, 
to  a  man  who  will  be  very  appreciative  of  your 
kindness." 

'Who  is  he?"  inquired  my  father. 

'Why,  Khrisanfa  Lukitch,"  said  my  aunt, 
with  a  little  hesitation. 

"  Khrisashka?  "  *  cross-questioned  my  father; 
and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  added: — "  'T  is  all 
one  to  me.    Fling  it  into  the  stove  if  you  like." 

1  The  scornful  diminutive.— Translatoh. 

310 


THE  WATCH 

He  buttoned  up  his  under  waistcoat,  which  was 
open  on  the  breast,  and  left  the  room,  writhing 
with  a  cough. 

"  And  do  you  consent,  my  dear  man? "  said  my 
aunt,  addressing  Nastasyei  Nastasyeitch. 

"  With  the  greatest  readiness,"  replied  the  lat- 
ter. Throughout  the  whole  duration  of  the 
"chastisement"  he  had  not  stirred  on  his  chair, 
and  merely  sniffing  softly,  and  softly  rubbing 
together  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  he  had  turned 
his  foxy  eyes  upon  me,  my  father  and  Yiishka  by 
turns.  We  afforded  him  genuine  satisfac- 
tion! .... 

My  aunt's  suggestion  agitated  me  to  the  bot- 
tom of  my  soul.  I  was  not  sorry  for  the  watch ; 
but  I  heartily  detested  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
preparing  to  give  it. — This  Khrisanfa  Lukitch, 
whose  surname  was  Trankvillitatin,1  a  healthy, 
robust,  lank  student  in  the  ecclesiastical  semi- 
nary, had  acquired  a  habit  of  coming  to  our  house 
— the  devil  only  knows  why!  'To  teach  the 
children,"  my  aunt  asserted;  but  he  could  not 
teach  us,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  himself 
had  learned  nothing  to  teach,  and  was  as  stupid 
as  a  horse.  Altogether,  he  resembled  a  horse: 
he  clattered  his  feet  exactly  as  though  they  were 
hoofs;     he     did    not    laugh— he    neighed,    dis- 

1  An  absurd  surname  of  this  sort,  or  one  manufactured  from  the 
title  of  a  religious  festival  or  something  similar,  is  an  infallible  sign 
that  the  owner  belongs  to,  or  is  descended  from,  the  ecclesiastical 
caste. — Than  slatoe. 

311 


THE  WATCH 

playing  the  whole  of  his  jaws  down  to  his  very 
gullet  in  the  process;  and  he  had  a  long  face,  a 
nose  with  a  hump,  and  large,  flat  cheek-bones; 
he  wore  a  shaggy  frieze  kaftan,  and  emitted  an 
odour  of  raw  meat.  My  aunt  fairly  worshipped 
him  and  called  him  a  distinguished  man,  a  cav- 
alier, and  even  a  grenadier.  He  had  a  habit  of 
rapping  children  on  the  forehead  (he  had  rapped 
me  also,  when  I  was  younger)  with  the  nails  of 
his  long  fingers,  which  were  as  hard  as  stone, 
and  as  he  tapped  he  would  guffaw  and  express 
surprise.  "How  thy  head  resounds!"  he  would 
say.  "That  signifies  that  it  is  empty!"  And 
this  lout  was  to  possess  my  watch! — "  Not  on  any 
account! "  I  decided  in  my  own  mind,  when  I  had 
run  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and  tucked  my  feet 
up  on  my  bed,  while  my  cheek  burned  and  glowed 
from  the  blow  it  had  received — and  in  my  heart 
also  the  anguish  of  insult,  and  a  thirst  for  ven- 
geance flared  up.  .  .  .  "Not  on  any  account!  I 
won't  allow  that  damned  seminarist  to  rail  at  me. 
....  He  '11  put  on  the  watch,  and  let  the  chain 
hang  over  his  belly,  and  begin  to  neigh  with 
pleasure.  .  .  .  Not  on  any  account!" 

Yet,  what  was  I  to  do?  How  was  I  to  pre- 
vent it? 

I  decided  to  steal  the  watch  from  my  aunt! 


312 


THE  WATCH 


VIII 


Luckily  Trankvillitatin  was  absent  from  town 
at  the  time.  He  could  not  come  to  our  house 
earlier  than  the  following  day;  I  must  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  night.  My  aunt  did  not  lock  her- 
self into  her  room,  for  all  through  our  house 
none  of  the  keys  worked  in  the  locks;  but  where 
would  she  put  the  watch,  where  would  she  hide 
it?  Until  evening  she  carried  it  in  her  pocket, 
and  even  pulled  it  out  more  than  once  and  looked 
at  it;  but  at  night — where  would  it  be  at  night? 
— Well,  it  was  my  business  to  find  that  out,  I 
thought,  brandishing  my  clenched  fists. 

I  was  all  glowing  with  audacity  and  fright 
and  joy  at  the  approach  of  the  longed-for  crime; 
I  kept  constantly  nodding  my  head ;  I  contracted 
my  brows  in  a  frown,  I  whispered:  "Just  wait 
a  bit! "  I  menaced  some  one  or  other,  I  was  ma- 
lignant, I  was  dangerous  ....  and  I  avoided 
David! — No  one,  not  even  he,  must  have  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  that  which  I  was  preparing 
to  perpetrate.  .  .  . 

"  I  will  act  alone— and  alone  I  will  be  respon- 
sible!" 

The  day  dragged  slowly  by  ... .  then  the  even- 
ing ...  at  last  night  came.  I  did  nothing,  I 
even  tried  not  to  stir:  one  thought  had  riveted 
itself  in  my  head,  like  a  nail.     At  dinner  my 

313 


THE  WATCH 

father,  whose  heart  was,  as  I  have  said,  benig- 
nant, and  who  had  grown  somewhat  ashamed 
of  his  vehemence — one  does  not  slap  boys  of  six- 
teen on  the  face — my  father  tried  to  pet  me;  but 
I  rejected  his  caresses,  not  out  of  rancour,  but 
simply  because  I  was  afraid  of  relenting:  it  was 
necessary  for  me  to  preserve  all  the  fervour  of 
vengeance,  all  the  hardened  temper  of  irrevo- 
cable resolution! 

I  went  to  bed  very  early;  but,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  I  did  not  go  to  sleep,  and  did  not  even 
close  my  eyes,  but  on  the  contrary  opened  them 
staringly  wide — although  I  had  drawn  the  cov- 
erlet over  my  head.  I  had  not  thought  out  be- 
forehand how  I  should  proceed ;  I  had  no  plan  of 
action;  I  was  merely  waiting  until  everything 
should  quiet  down  at  last  in  the  house.  I  took 
but  one  precaution;  I  did  not  remove  my  stock- 
ings. My  aunt's  room  was  in  the  second  story. 
It  was  necessary  to  pass  through  the  dining-room 
and  the  anteroom,  ascend  the  stairs,  traverse  a 
short,  narrow  corridor— and  there  ...  on  the 
right,  was  the  door!  ....  There  was  no  need 
to  take  a  candle-end  or  a  lantern :  in  the  corner  of 
my  aunt's  room,  in  front  of  the  glass  case  of  holy 
pictures,  twinkled  a  shrine-lamp  which  was  never 
allowed  to  go  out.  I  knew  this.  So  I  should  be 
able  to  see!  I  continued  to  lie  with  staring  eyes 
and  wide-open,  parched  mouth;  my  blood  ham- 
mered in  my  temples,  my  ears,  my  throat,  my 

314 


THE  WATCH 

back,  my  whole  body!  I  waited  .  .  .  but  as 
though  some  imp  were  making  sport  of  me,  time 
passed  on  ...  .  and  on,  but  silence  was  not  es- 
tablished. 

IX 

Never,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  had  David  fallen 
asleep  so  late.  .  .  .  David,  the  taciturn  David, 
even  entered  into  conversation  with  me!  Never 
had  people  thumped,  walked,  and  talked  so  long 
in  the  house !  And  what  were  they  talking  about  ? 
I  thought.  Had  n't  they  talked  their  fill  that 
morning?  External  sounds  did  not  cease  for  a 
long  time,  either.  Now  a  dog  set  up  a  shrill,  per- 
sistent barking ;  now  a  drunken  peasant  began  to 
bluster  somewhere  or  other,  and  would  not  stop; 
now  gates  creaked ;  now  a  miserable  little  peasant- 
cart  drove  past  on  rickety  wheels,  drove  and 
drove,  and  could  not  seem  to  get  past!  But  these 
sounds  did  not  irritate  me;  on  the  contrary,  they 
pleased  me,  for  some  reason  or  other!  They 
seemed  to  divert  my  attention.— But  now,  at  last, 
apparently,  everything  had  quieted  down.  Only 
the  pendulum  of  our  old  clock  ticked  hoarsely 
and  pompously  in  the  dining-room,  and  one  could 
hear  the  long,  measured,  and  seemingly-difficult 
breathing  of  sleeping  persons. 

I  prepare  to  rise  .  .  .  but  lo!  again  something 
has  hissed  ....  then  suddenly  there  is  a  groan 

315 


THE  WATCH 

....  something  soft  has  fallen— and  a  whisper 
is  wafted  abroad,  a  whisper  glides  along  the 
walls.  .  .  . 

Or,  is  there  nothing  of  all  this,  and  is  it  only 
my  imagination  teasing  me  ? 

Everything  has  grown  dead  still  at  last:  the 
very  core  and  pitchiness  and  dead  of  the  night  has 
come. — 'T  is  time!  Shivering  all  over  in  an- 
ticipation, I  fling  aside  the  coverlet,  lower  my 
feet  to  the  floor,  stand  up.  .  .  .  One  step,  a  sec- 
ond. .  .  I  crawl  stealthily  on.  The  hollows  of 
my  feet  seem  to  belong  to  some  one  else :  they  are 
heavy,  they  step  weakly  and  uncertainly.  Stay! 
What  sound  is  that?  Is  some  one  sawing  some- 
where, or  scraping  ....  or  sighing?  I  listen  .  .  . 
Chills  course  over  my  cheeks,  cold,  watery  tears 
well  up  in  my  eyes.  .  .  .  Never  mind!  .  .  .  . 
Again  I  crawl  forward.  It  is  dark;  but  I  know 
the  way.  Suddenly  I  collide  with  a  chair.  .  .  . 
What  a  clatter,  and  how  painful!  The  blow  has 
taken  me  straight  on  the  shin.  ...  I  become  pet- 
rified on  the  spot.  .  .  .  Well,  will  they  wake  up  ? 
Ah!  I  care  nothing!  Suddenly  daring  appears, 
and  even  wrath.  Forward!  Forward!  And 
now  I  have  traversed  the  dining-room;  now  I 
have  groped  for  and  found  the  door,  and  have 
opened  it  with  one  turn,  with  a  flourish.  .  .  . 
How  that  cursed  hinge  squeaks  ....  damn  it! 
Now  I  am  ascending  the  stairs.  .  .  .  One!  two! 
three !    A  stair  has  creaked  under  my  foot ;  I  dart 

316 


THE  WATCH 

a  vicious  glance  at  it— just  as  though  I  could  see 
it.  And  I  have  grasped  the  handle  of  the  second 
door.  .  .  .  This  one  did  not  even  squeak!  It 
swung  open  lightly,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Pray, 
enter!"  .  .  .  And  now  I  am  already  in  the  little 
corridor ! 

High  up  in  the  corridor,  near  the  ceiling,  is  a 
little  window.  The  faint  nocturnal  light  barely 
sifts  through  the  dark  panes.  And  in  that  flick- 
ering light  I  behold,  stretched  out  on  a  felt  upon 
the  floor,  with  both  arms  thrown  over  her  head, 
our  little  runaway  girl;  she  is  sleeping  soundly, 
breathing  rapidly,  and  right  at  her  very  head 
is  the  fateful  door.  I  step  over  the  felt,  across 
the  girl.  .  .  .  Who  opened  that  door  for  me.  .  .  . 
I  know  not;  but  now  I  am  in  my  aunt's  room; 
there  is  the  shrine-lamp  in  one  corner,  and  the 
bed  in  another,  and  my  aunt  in  cap  and  night- 
dress is  on  the  bed,  with  her  face  turned  toward 
me.  She  is  sleeping,  and  does  not  stir;  even  her 
breath  is  not  audible.  The  flame  of  the  shrine- 
lamp  flickers  softly,  agitated  by  the  current  of 
fresh  air;  and  all  over  the  room,  and  over  my 
aunt's  face,  which  resembles  yellow  wax,  the 
shadows  begin  to  waver.  .  .  . 

And  there  is  the  watch!  Behind  the  bed,  on 
the  wall  it  hangs,  on  a  small  embroidered  cushion. 
What  luck,  I  think  to  myself!  ...  I  must  not 
delay!  But  whose  footsteps  are  those,  soft  and 
swift,  behind  my  back?     Akh,  no!  that  is  the 

317 


THE  WATCH 

beating  of  my  heart!  ...  I  advance  one  foot. 
.  .  .  Heavens!  Something  round,  fairly  large, 
hits  me  below  the  knee  ....  once!  and  yet 
again !  I  am  ready  to  shriek  aloud,  I  am  ready  to 
fall  to  the  floor  with  fright.  ...  A  striped  cat, 
our  household  cat,  is  standing  before  me,  with 
arched  back  and  tail  in  air.  Now  he  springs  upon 
the  bed— heavily — and  softly  turns  himself  about, 
and  sits  down,  without  purring,  like  a  judge;  sits 
there  and  glares  at  me  with  his  golden  pupils! 
"Puss!  puss!"  I  whisper,  in  barely  audible  tones. 
I  bend  across  my  aunt,  I  already  have  the  watch 
in  my  grasp.  .  .  .  She  suddenly  sits  up,  opens 
her  eyelids  wide.  .  .  .  O  my  Creator!  What  will 
happen  now?  ....  But  her  eyelids  quiver  and 
close,  and  with  a  faint  babble  her  head  falls  back 
on  the  pillow. 

Another  minute  and  I  am  back  in  my  own 
room,  in  my  bed,  with  my  watch  in  my  hands.  .  .  . 
More  lightly  than  a  tuft  of  down  did  I  dash  back ! 
I  am  a  gallant  fellow,  I  am  a  thief,  I  am  a  hero; 
I  am  panting  with  joy,  I  feel  burning  hot,  I  feel 
jolly — I  want  to  wake  up  David  on  the  spot  and 
tell  him  everything — and,  incredible  to  relate!  I 
fall  fast  asleep,  like  one  dead !  At  last  I  open  my 
eyes.  .  .  .  The  room  is  light;  the  sun  has  already 
risen.  Fortunately,  no  one  is  awake  as  yet.  I 
spring  up  like  one  scalded,  arouse  David,  and 
narrate  all  to  him.    He  listens  with  a  grin. 

"See  here," — he  says  to  me  at  last, — "let's 

318 


THE  WATCH 

bury  that  idiotic  watch  in  the  earth,  so  that  no 
trace  of  it  may  remain! " 

I  consider  this  a  splendid  idea.  In  a  few  min- 
utes we  are  both  dressed  and  run  into  the  fruit- 
garden  which  is  situated  behind  our  house,  and 
beneath  an  ancient  apple-tree,  in  a  deep  hole 
hastily  excavated,  with  David's  big  knife,  in  the 
porous  spring  soil,  we  conceal  forever  the  hated 
gift  of  my  godfather,  which  after  all  has  not 
reached  the  hands  of  the  repulsive  Trankvilli- 
tatin!  We  tread  down  the  hole,  fling  rubbish 
over  it,  and,  proud  and  happy,  we  regain  the 
house  without  having  been  seen  by  any  one,  get 
into  our  beds  and  sleep  another  hour  or  two — 
and  with  what  a  light,  blissful  slumber! 

X 

You  can  picture  to  yourself  what  an  uproar 
arose  the  next  morning  as  soon  as  my  aunt  woke 
up  and  discovered  the  loss  of  the  watch!  Her 
piercing  shriek  still  rings  in  my  ears.  "Police! 
Thieves!  Thieves!"  she  shrilled,  and  roused  the 
whole  household  on  foot.  She  went  into  a  wild 
rage,  but  David  and  I  only  smiled  to  ourselves, 
and  sweet  was  our  smile  to  us. 

"  Every  one  must  receive  a  sound  thrashing, 
every  one!" — screamed  my  aunt.  "My  watch 
has  been  stolen  from  under  my  head,  from  under 
my  pillow ! " 

819 


THE  WATCH 

We  were  prepared  for  anything;  we  antici- 
pated a  catastrophe  .  .  .  but,  contrary  to  our  ex- 
pectations, no  catastrophe  whatever  crashed  down 
upon  our  heads.  At  first,  it  is  true,  my  father 
made  a  tremendous  fuss — he  even  spoke  of  the 
police;  but  probably  the  row  of  the  day  before 
had  thoroughly  bored  him,  and  he  suddenly,  to 
the  indescribable  amazement  of  my  aunt,  pounced 
not  upon  us,  but  upon  her! 

"  I  'm  sick  of  you,— more  sick  than  of  a  bit- 
ter radish,— Pulkheriya  Petrovna,"— he  yelled, 
"  and  of  your  watch!  I  won't  hear  another  word 
about  it!  You  say  that  it  did  not  disappear 
through  sorcery;  but  what  do  I  care  about  that? 
I  don't  care  if  it  was  sorcery !  Has  it  been  stolen 
from  you  ?  Well,  let  it  go !  What  will  Nastasyei 
Nastasyeitch  say?  The  devil  fly  away  with  him 
altogether,  with  that  Nastasyeitch  of  yours!  I 
get  nothing  but  offences  and  unpleasantnesses 
out  of  him.  Don't  dare  to  bother  me  any  more! 
Do  you  hear?" 

My  father  banged  the  door,  and  went  off  to 
his  study. 

At  first  David  and  I  did  not  understand  the 
hint  contained  in  his  last  words;  but  later  on  we 
learned  that  my  father  was  extremely  indignant 
at  my  godfather  at  that  very  time,  because  the 
latter  had  snatched  away  from  him  a  good  bit 
of  business.  And  so  my  aunt  was  left  in  the 
lurch.     She  almost  burst  with  wrath,  but  there 

320 


THE  WATCH 

was  nothing  to  be  done.  She  was  compelled  to 
content  herself  with  saying  in  a  whisper  as  she 
passed  me,  making  a  wry  face  in  my  direction: 
"Thief,  thief,  convict,  rascal!"— My  aunt's  re- 
proaches afforded  me  genuine  delight.  It  was 
also  very  pleasant,  when  skirting  along  the  fence, 
to  glide  a  feignedly-indifferent  eye  at  the  spot 
under  the  apple-tree  where  the  watch  reposed; 
and  if  David  were  there  also,  to  exchange  with 
him  a  significant  grimace.  .  .  . 

My  aunt  took  it  into  her  head  to  hound  Trank- 
villitatin  on  me,  but  I  had  recourse  to  David's  as- 
sistance. He  immediately  announced  to  the  stal- 
wart seminarist  that  he  would  slit  open  his  belly 
with  a  knife  if  he  did  not  let  me  alone.  .  .  . 
Trankvillitatin  was  scared.  Although  he  was  a 
grenadier  and  a  cavalier,  according  to  my  aunt's 
expression,  yet  he  was  not  distinguished  for  his 
valour. 

Thus  five  weeks  passed.  .  .  .  But  do  you  think 
the  story  of  the  watch  ended  thus?  No;  it  was 
not  ended;  only,  in  order  to  continue  my  tale, 
I  must  introduce  a  new  personage;  and  in  order 
to  introduce  this  new  personage,  I  must  go  back 
a  little. 

XI 

My  father  had  long  been  friendly,  even  intimate, 
with  a  certain  retired  official,  Latkin,  a  lame,  mis- 
erable little  man  with  strange  and  timid  ways— 

321 


THE  WATCH 

one  of  those  beings  concerning  whom  the  proverb 
was  fabricated  that  they  have  been  slain  by  God 
himself.  Like  my  father  and  Nastasyei,  he  oc- 
cupied himself  with  soliciting  lawsuits  and  was 
also  a  private  "lawyer"  and  attorney;  but  as  he 
possessed  neither  an  imposing  exterior  nor  the 
gift  of  words,  and  had  too  little  confidence  in  him- 
self, he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  act  inde- 
pendently, and  stuck  close  to  my  father.  His 
chirography  was  "  a  regular  string  of  pearls,"  he 
was  thoroughly  grounded  in  the  statutes  and  had 
acquired  to  perfection  all  the  intricacies  of  style 
required  for  legal  documents  and  petitions.  In 
company  with  my  father  he  managed  certain  af- 
fairs, shared  the  profit  and  loss,  and,  apparently, 
nothing  could  shake  their  friendship ;  but,  never- 
theless, it  crumbled  to  ruin  in  one  day — and  for- 
ever. My  father  quarrelled  for  good  and  all  with 
his  colleague.  If  Latkin  had  snatched  away 
from  my  father  some  profitable  business  after  the 
manner  of  Nastasyei,  who  replaced  him  later  on, 
my  father  would  have  been  no  more  angry  with 
him  than  with  Nastasyei,— probably  he  would 
have  been  even  less  angry ;  but  Latkin,  under  the 
influence  of  some  inexplicable,  incomprehensible 
feeling — envy  or  greed — and  perhaps  also  under 
the  momentary  inspiration  of  honour,  —  "gave 
away  "  my  father,  betrayed  him  to  their  common 
client,  a  wealthy  young  merchant,  by  opening  the 
eyes  of  that  heedless  youth  to  certain   .... 

322 


THE  WATCH 

certain  tricks  which  were  designed  to  yield  my 
father  considerable  profit.  It  was  not  the  mone- 
tary loss,  great  as  that  was — no!  but  the  treach- 
ery which  hurt  and  enraged  my  father.  He  could 
not  forgive  slyness ! 

"  Just  see,  a  saint  has  made  his  appearance! " — 
he  reiterated,  all  trembling  with  wrath,  and  with 
teeth  chattering  as  though  in  a  fever.  I  was 
present  in  the  room  and  was  a  witness  of  this  out- 
rageous scene.— "  Good!  From  this  day  forth — 
amen!  All  is  at  an  end  between  us.  Yonder  is 
God  and  yonder  is  the  threshold — begone !  I  shall 
not  set  my  foot  in  thy  house,  and  do  not  thou  set 
thy  foot  in  mine !  Thou  'rt  too  awfully  honest  for 
me— how  can  thou  and  I  do  business  together! 
But  thou  shalt  have  neither  bottom  nor  cover! " 1 

In  vain  did  Latkin  beseech  my  father,  and  bow 
to  the  earth  before  him;  in  vain  did  he  strive  to 
explain  that  which  filled  his  own  soul  with  painful 
surprise. 

"  But  it  was  utterly  without  profit  for  myself, 
Porfiry  Petrovitch,"  he  stammered:  "I  cut  my 
own  throat,  you  know ! " 

My  father  remained  inflexible  ....  Latkin 
never  set  foot  in  our  house  again.  Fate  itself, 
apparently,  conceived  a  desire  to  put  into  execu- 
tion my  father's  last,  cruel  wish.  Soon  after  the 
rupture  (it  took  place  a  couple  of  years  before 
the  beginning  of  my  story)  Latkin's  wife— who 

1  Neither  floor  nor  roof.— Translator. 

323 


THE  WATCH 

had  long  been  ill,  it  is  true— died;  his  second 
daughter,  a  child  of  three  years,  was  stricken  deaf 
and  dumb  with  terror  in  one  day:  a  swarm  of 
bees  settled  down  on  her  head;  Latkin  himself 
suffered  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  and  fell  into  ex- 
treme and  definitive  poverty.  How  he  got  along, 
on  what  he  subsisted,  it  was  difficult  even  to  im- 
agine. He  dwelt  in  a  half -ruined  little  hut,  at  a 
short  distance  from  our  house.  Raisa  also  lived 
with  him,  and  did  her  best  with  the  housekeeping. 
This  Raisa  is  the  new  personage  whom  I  must 
introduce  into  my  story. 

XII 

So  long  as  her  father  and  mine  were  friends,  we 
saw  her  constantly;  she  sometimes  sat  for  whole 
days  together  at  our  house  and  either  sewed  or 
spun  with  her  delicate,  nimble  and  skilful  hands. 
She  was  a  graceful,  rather  thin  young  girl,  with 
intelligent  brown  eyes  in  a  white,  rather  long  face. 
She  spoke  little,  but  to  the  point,  in  a  quiet,  reso- 
nant voice,  hardly  opening  her  mouth,  and  with- 
out displaying  her  teeth;  when  she  laughed — 
which  rarely  happened,  and  did  not  last  long — 
they  suddenly  all  revealed  themselves,  large,  white 
as  almonds.  I  remember  also  her  walk,  which  was 
light  and  elastic,  with  a  little  skip  at  every  step; 
it  always  seemed  to  me  as  though  she  were  de- 
scending a  flight  of  stairs,  even  when  she  was 

324 


THE  WATCH 

walking  on  level  ground.     She  held  herself  up- 
right, with  arms  pressed  close  to  her  breast.    And 
whatever  she  did,  whatever  she  undertook,— whe- 
ther she  threaded  a  needle,  or  smoothed  a  petticoat 
with  an  iron,— she  did  everything  well,  and  .  .  . 
you  will  not  believe  it  ...  in  a  touching  sort  of 
way.     Her  Christian  name  was  Raisa,  but  we 
called  her  "  Black-lip  ":  she  had  on  her  upper  lip 
a  birth-mark,— a  small,  dark-blue  spot,  as  though 
she  had  been  eating  blackberries.  But  this  did  not 
deface  her:  quite  the  contrary.    She  was  just  one 
year  older  than  David.    I  cherished  for  her  a  sen- 
timent akin  to  reverence,  but  she  had  little  to  do 
with  me.    On  the  other  hand,  between  David  and 
her  a  great  friendship  sprang  up— a  strange,  un- 
childish,  but  good  friendship.     They  seemed  to 
suit  each  other.     They  sometimes  did  not  ex- 
change a  word  for  whole  hours  at  a  stretch,  but 
each  felt  that  things  were  well  with  them— and 
that  because  they  were  together.     I  have  never 
met  any  other  girl  like  her,  really.    There  was  in 
her  something  attentive  and  decisive,  something 
honourable  and  sad  and  charming.    I  never  heard 
her  utter  a  clever  word,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
never  heard  a  commonplace  from  her,  and  more 
intelligent  eyes  I  have  never  seen.     When  the 
rupture  occurred  between  her  family  and  mine  I 
began  to  see  her  rarely :  my  father  forbade  me,  in 
the  strictest  manner,  to  visit  the  Latkins— and  she 
no  longer  showed  herself  in  our  house.    But  I  was 

325 


THE  WATCH 

in  the  habit  of  meeting  her  on  the  street,  and  in 
church,  and  Black-lip  still  inspired  me  with  the 
same  sentiments :  respect  and  even  a  certain  admi- 
ration rather  than  compassion.  She  had  borne  her 
reverses  well.  "  She 's  a  girl  of  flint,"  the  coarse 
Trankvillitatin  himself  had  said  of  her  one  day. 
And  really  she  was  to  be  pitied :  her  face  had  as- 
sumed a  careworn,  suffering  expression,  her  eyes 
had  become  hollow  and  sunken — an  intolerable 
burden  was  imposed  upon  her  young  shoulders. 

David  saw  her  much  more  frequently  than  I 
did ;  he  even  went  to  their  house.  My  father  al- 
lowed him  to  do  as  he  pleased;  he  knew  that 
David  would  not  obey  him  in  any  case.  And 
Raisa  presented  herself  at  the  wattled  fence  of 
our  garden,  from  time  to  time,  where  it  abutted 
on  the  alley,  and  there  met  David;  she  did  not 
conduct  a  conversation  with  him,  but  merely  com- 
municated to  him  some  fresh  difficulty  or  new  dis- 
aster, and  asked  his  advice. 

The  paralysis  which  had  smitten  Latkin  was 
of  a  very  peculiar  nature.  His  arms  and  legs  had 
grown  weak,  but  he  had  not  lost  the  use  of  them, 
and  his  brain  even  worked  regularly ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  tongue  got  entangled  and  instead 
of  one  set  of  words  he  employed  quite  another  set ; 
one  was  forced  to  guess  at  what  he  meant  to  say. 

..."  Tchu-tchu-tchu,"  he  stammered  with  an 
effort  (he  began  every  sentence  with  "tchu-tchu- 
tchu  ")  — "  the  scissors;  give  me  the  scissors 

326 


THE  WATCH 

But  by  the  scissors  he  meant  to  indicate  bread.  He 
hated  my  father  with  all  the  strength  that  was  left 
to  him;  he  attributed  to  his  curse  all  his  misfor- 
tunes and  called  him  sometimes  a  butcher,  some- 
times a  jeweller.  "  Tchu-tchu,  don't  dare  to  go 
to  the  jeweller's,  Vasilievna!"  He  had  rechris- 
tened  his  daughter  by  this  name,  while  his  own 
name  was  Martinyan.1  He  grew  more  exacting 
every  day;  his  wants  increased.  .  .  .  And  how 
were  those  wants  to  be  supplied  ?  Where  was  the 
money  to  come  from?  Woe  ages  a  person  fast; 
but  it  makes  one  shudder  to  hear  certain  words  on 
the  lips  of  a  girl  of  seventeen. 


XIII 

I  remember  that  I  happened  to  be  present  at  her 
conversation  by  the  fence  with  David,  on  the  very 
day  of  her  mother's  death. 

"  Mamma  died  at  dawn  this  morning,"  she  said, 
after  first  having  glanced  about  her  with  her  dark, 
expressive  eyes,  and  then  fixed  them  on  the 
ground.  "  The  cook  has  undertaken  to  buy  the 
coffin  as  cheaply  as  possible;  and  we  cannot  rely 
upon  her ;  she  will  probably  spend  the  money  for 
liquor.  It  would  be  well  for  thee  to  come  round 
and  take  a  look,  David :  she  is  afraid  of  thee." 

1  Consequently,  his  daughter  should  have  been  called 
Rafsa  Martin  yanovna.— Translator. 

327 


THE  WATCH 

f  I  '11  come,"  replied  David;  "  I  '11  see  to  it 

But  how  about  thy  father? " 

'  He  is  weeping;  he  says,  •  You  will  be  spoiling 
me,  too.'  'You  will  spoil'  must  mean— you  will 
bury.  Now  he  has  fallen  asleep."  Raisa  sud- 
denly heaved  a  deep  sigh.— "  Akh,  David,  Davi- 
dushko!"1  She  passed  her  half-clenched  fist 
across  her  forehead  and  brows,  and  this  gesture 
was  very  bitter  .  .  .  and  very  sincere  and  beau- 
tiful, as  were  all  her  gestures. 

"  But  do  have  some  pity  on  thyself,"  remarked 
David.  —  "  Thou  hast  not  slept  at  all,  I  am  sure. 
.  .  .  And  what  is  the  use  of  crying?  It  will  not 
remedy  thy  grief." 

'  I  have  no  time  to  weep,"  replied  Raisa. 

"Rich  folks  can  indulge  themselves  in  that 
way,  in  weeping,"  remarked  David. 

Raisa  started  to  go,  but  turned  back. 

"They  are  bargaining  with  us  for  the  yellow 
shawl  from  mamma's  wedding  outfit.  They  offer 
twelve  rubles.    I  think  that  is  very  little." 

"  So  it  is, — very  little." 

"  I  would  prefer  not  to  sell  it,"  went  on  Raisa, 
after  a  brief  pause, — "but  we  must  have  money 
for  the  funeral,  you  know." 

"  You  must.  Only  you  must  not  spend  money 
at  random.  Those  priests  are— the  mischief !  Here, 
wait  a  bit,  I'll  come  round.  Art  thou  going? 
— I'll  be  there  very  soon.    Good-bye,  dear." 

1  Or  "dear  little  David."— Translator. 

328 


THE  WATCH 


«« 


Good-bye,  dear  brother,  darling ! " 

"  See  here  now,  don't  cry!  " 

'How  should  I  cry?  I  must  either  cook  the 
dinner  or  cry.    One  of  the  two." 

'  What  does  she  mean  by  cooking  the  dinner?  " 
I  asked,  turning  to  David,  as  soon  as  Rafsa  had 
departed.  '  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  pre- 
pares the  food  herself?" 

'  Why,  surely  thou  didst  hear  her  say  that  the 
cook  has  gone  to  bargain." 

'  Prepare  the  dinner,"  I  thought,  "  and  her 
hands  have  always  been  so  clean,  and  her  gown  so 
neat.  ...  I  should  like  to  see  how  she  would 
manage  in  the  kitchen.  ...  A  remarkable  girl!" 

I  remember  another  conversation  at  the  fence. 
On  this  occasion  Raisa  had  brought  with  her  her 
little  deaf  and  dumb  sister.  This  sister  was  a 
pretty  child,  with  huge,  surprised  eyes,  and  a 
whole  mass  of  dull  black  hair  on  her  little  head. 
( Raisa's  hair  also  was  black,  and  without  lustre. ) 
Latkin  had  already  been  smitten  with  paralysis. 

'  I  really  do  not  know  what  I  am  to  do,"  began 
Raisa. — "The  doctor  has  written  a  prescription, 
and  I  must  go  to  the  apothecary's;  and  our 
wretched  little  peasant"  (Latkin  still  owned  one 
serf  soul)  "has  brought  fuel  and  a  goose  from 
the  village.  But  the  yard-porter  is  taking  it 
away ;  ■  you  are  in  debt  to  me,'  he  says." 

"  Is  he  taking  away  the  goose? "  asked  David. 

"  No,  not  the  goose.    1 1t's  old,'  he  says;  '  'tis 

329 


THE  WATCH 

good  for  nothing  any  more.  That  's  why  the 
peasant  has  brought  it  to  you/  he  says.  But  he  is 
taking  the  wood." 

"But  he  has  no  right  to  do  that!"  exclaimed 
David. 

"  He  has  no  right,  but  he  is  taking  it.  ...  I 
went  to  the  garret;  we  have  a  trunk  standing 
there— an  old,  a  very  old  trunk.  I  began  to  rum- 
mage in  it.  .  .  And  what  do  you  think  I  found? 
Look!" 

She  drew  from  under  her  kerchief  a  fairly  large 
telescope,  mounted  in  brass,  and  covered  with 
morocco  which  had  turned  yellow.  David,  in  his 
quality  of  a  lover  and  connoisseur  of  all  sorts  of 
instruments,  immediately  seized  it. 

"  English,"  he  said,  applying  it  to  one  eye,  then 
to  the  other.— "A  naval  glass." 

"And  the  lens  is  whole,"  pursued  Raisa. — "I 
showed  it  to  papa;  he  said,  '  Carry  it  to  the 
jeweller  and  pawn  it!'  What  dost  thou  think 
about  it?  Will  they  give  me  money  for  it? 
For  of  what  use  to  us  is  a  telescope?  Can  we 
use  it  as  a  looking-glass  to  see  what  beauties 
we  are?  But  we  have  no  looking-glass,  unfortu- 
nately." 

And  as  she  uttered  these  words,  Raisa  suddenly 
burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  Her  little  sister  could 
not  hear  her,  of  course,  but  probably  felt  the  quiv- 
ering of  her  body  (she  was  holding  Raisa  by  the 
hand),  and  lifting  her  large  eyes,  she  contorted 

330 


THE  WATCH 

her  little  face  in  a  frightened  way,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

'  That  's  the  way  she  always  is,"  remarked 
Raisa;  "  she  does  not  like  to  have  people  laugh." 

'  Come,  I  won't  do  it  again,  Liubotchka,  I 
won't  do  it  again,"  she  added,  promptly  squatting 
down  on  her  heels  beside  the  child  and  running 
her  fingers  through  her  hair.  The  child  ceased 
crying.    Raisa  rose  to  her  feet. 

S  So  pray  do  thy  best,  Davidushko  .  .  .  with 
the  telescope,  I  mean.  For  't  is  a  pity  about 
the  wood,— and  the  goose  also,  no  matter  how  old 
it  is!" 

'  I  can  certainly  get  ten  rubles  for  it,"  said 
David,  turning  the  glass  about  in  all  directions. 
—"I  '11  buy  it  from  thee  .  .  .  why  not?  And  in 
the  meantime,  here  are  fifteen  kopeks  for  the 
apothecary.  .  .  .  Is  that  enough  ? " 

"  I  will  borrow  it  of  thee,"  whispered  Raisa,  ac- 
cepting the  coin  from  him. 

"Of  course!  With  interest — wouldst  like 
that?  Yes,  and  I  have  a  pledge.  A  very  valuable 
article!  .  .  .  The  English  are  first-class  people." 

"  But  they  say  that  we  are  going  to  war  with 
them?" 

'No,"  replied  David,  "we  are  thrashing  the 
French  at  present." 

"Well— thou  knowest  best.  So  do  thy  best. 
Farewell,  gentlemen  I" 


331 


THE  WATCH 


XIV 

And  here  is  another  conversation  which  also  took 
place  at  that  same  fence.  Raisa  appeared  more 
anxious  than  usual. 

"  A  head  of  cabbage  costs  five  kopeks,  and  the 
head  is  such  a  wee,  tiny  bit  of  a  thing,"  she  said, 
propping  her  chin  on  her  hand. — "  Just  think 
how  dear!  And  I  have  n't  yet  received  the  money 
for  my  sewing." 

"  Is  some  one  in  debt  to  thee? "  asked  David. 

"  Why,  it  is  still  that  same  merchant's  wife  who 
lives  beyond  the  ramparts." 

"  The  one  who  wears  a  green  coat,1  the  fat 
onef 

"  Yes,  she 's  the  one." 

"What  a  fat  creature!  She  can't  get  her 
breath  for  fat,  and  in  church  throws  off  a  steam, 
but  does  n't  pay  her  debts! " 

"  She  will  pay  ....  only  when  will  it  be? 
And  here  is  something  else,  Davidushko,  some 
fresh  worries.  My  father  has  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  narrate  his  dreams  to  me — thou  knowest 
how  tongue-tied  he  has  become:  he  tries  to  say 
one  word  and  another  comes  out  instead.  When 
it  is  a  question  of  food,  or  of  anything  connected 

1  The  coat  in  question  is  of  plebeian  shape,  in  use  among  the  peas- 
ants. It  has  sleeves,  short  skirts,  a  round  turn-down  collar,  and  is 
trimmed  all  round  with  a  ribbon  border.  It  is  fitted  to  the  figure 
and  hooked  up.  —  Translator. 

332 


THE  WATCH 

with  daily  life,  we  have  already  become  used  to 
him,  we  can  understand;  but  a  dream  is  unintel- 
ligible even  with  healthy  people,  while  in  his 
case  it  is  dreadful !  ■  I  'm  greatly  delighted/  he 
says ;  '  to-day  I  was  walking  about  the  whole 
time  on  white  birds;  and  the  Lord  God  gave  me 
a  pouquet,  and  in  the  pouquet  sat  Andriiisha  with 
a  little  knife.' — He  calls  our  Liubotchka  An- 
driiisha.— '  Now  we  are  both  going  to  get  well,' 
he  says.  '  All  that  is  needed  is  to  use  the  knife— 
tchirk!  Like  that!'  and  he  points  to  his  throat. 
— I  don't  understand  him.  I  say:  'Very  well, 
dear,  very  well';  but  he  gets  angry  and  tries 
to  explain  the  matter  to  me.  He  even  took  to 
weeping." 

"  But  thou  shouldst  have  told  him  some  tale  or 
other,"  I  interposed:  'thou  shouldst  have  in- 
vented some  lie  or  other." 

'  I  don't  know  how  to  lie,"  replied  Raisa,  fairly 
flinging  her  hands  apart  in  despair. 

And  it  was  a  fact ;  she  did  not  know  how  to  lie. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  lie,"  remarked  David, 
"  and  there  is  no  need  for  wearing  thyself  to  death 
either.    No  one  will  say  '  Thank  you,'  I  'm  sure." 

Raisa  looked  intently  at  him. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  something  of  thee,  Davi- 
dushko ;  how  should  one  write  '  shtop  '1 '' 

"What  does  'shtop'  mean?" 

'  Why,  here,  for  example :  '  I  wish  that  thou 
shouldst  live.' " 

333 


THE  WATCH 

"  Write:  sh,  t,  o,  b,  er!"  * 

"  No,"  I  put  in:  "  not  sh,  but  tch! " 

"Well,  never  mind,  write  tch!  But  the  chief 
point  is  that  thou  shouldst  take  care  of  thyself  I " 

"  I  should  like  to  write  correctly,"  remarked 
Raisa,  blushing  faintly. 

When  she  blushed  she  immediately  became 
wonderfully  pretty. 

"  It  may  prove  useful.  .  .  .  How  papa  used  to 
write  in  his  day!  ...  It  was  wonderful!  And 
he  taught  me.  Well,  but  now  he  deciphers  the 
letters  badly." 

"  Only  let  me  keep  thee  alive,"  repeated  David, 
lowering  his  voice  and  never  taking  his  eyes  from 
Raisa.  Raisa  darted  a  swift  glance  at  him  and 
blushed  worse  than  before. — "  Only  do  thou  live. 
....  And  as  for  writing  .  .  .  write  as  best  thou 
canst.  .  .  Oh,  damn  it,  the  witch  is  coming! ' 
(David  called  my  aunt  "the  witch.")  "And 
what  is  bringing  her  hither?  .  .  .  Run  away,  my 
darling!" 

Raisa  darted  one  more  glance  at  David  and 
fled. 

David  spoke  to  me  very  rarely  and  reluctantly 
about  Raisa  and  her  family,  especially  since  he 

1  Er  is  the  name  of  the  character  denoting  that  the  preceding  con- 
sonant has  the  hard,  not  the  soft,  pronunciation.  All  terminal  con- 
sonants, and  many  which  are  not  terminal,  have  one  or  other  of  two 
characters  affixed,  and  it  is  necessary  to  specify  which  is  required* 
TcfUob  (or,  in  full,  tchtoby)  means  that,  or  in  order  that.— Translator. 

334 


THE  WATCH 

had  begun  to  look  for  his  father's  return.  He 
thought  of  nothing  but  him,  and  of  how  they 
would  live  together  afterward.  He  had  a  vivid 
recollection  of  him,  and  was  wont  to  describe  him 
to  me  with  particular  satisfaction. 

"  He  is  tall  and  strong:  he  can  lift  ten  puds  1 
with  one  hand.  .  .  .  When  he  shouts  '  Hey  there, 
young  fellow!' — it  can  be  heard  throughout  the 
house.  He's  such  a  splendid,  kind  man  .  .  .  . 
and  a  gallant  fellow!  He  never  quailed  before 
any  one.  We  lived  in  capital  style  until  we  were 
ruined !  They  say  his  hair  has  grown  quite  grey 
now,  but  formerly  it  was  as  red  as  mine.  He 's  a 
ve-ry  stro-ong  man! " 

David  absolutely  refused  to  admit  that  we 
should  remain  in  Ryazan. 

"  You  may  go  away,"  I  remarked,  "  but  I  shall 
remain." 

"  Nonsense !    We  will  take  thee  with  us." 

"  And  how  about  my  father? " 

"  Thou  wilt  abandon  thy  father.  And  if  thou 
dost  not — thou  wilt  go  to  destruction." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  that? " 

David  did  not  answer  me,  and  merely  con- 
tracted his  white  brows. 

"  So  then,  when  we  go  away  with  my  daddy," 
he  began  again,  "  he  will  find  thee  a  good  place, 
and  I  shall  marry.  .  .  ." 

1  A  pud  is  36  pounds  English.  —  Thanslato*. 

335 


THE  WATCH 


« 


«« 
<< 


Well,  there 's  no  great  haste  about  that,"  I  re- 
marked. 

Yes,  there  is.  Why  not?  I  shall  marry  soon." 
Thou?" 

Yes,  I.    Why?" 

Surely  thou  hast  not  thine  eye  on  a  bride  al- 
ready?" 

"  Of  course  I  have." 
"Who  is  she?" 
David  laughed. 
What  a  stupid  thou  art!    Raisa,  of  course." 
Raisa!"  I  repeated,  with  amazement.— "Art 
thou  jesting?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  jest,  my  dear  fellow,  and 
I  don't  like  it  either." 

"  Why,  she  is  a  year  older  than  thou." 
"  What  of  that?    However,  let  us  drop  the  sub- 
ject." 

"Permit  me  to  ask  one  question,"  I  said. — 
"  Does  she  know  that  thou  art  preparing  to  marry 
her?" 

"  Probably." 

"  But  hast  not  thou  revealed  anything  to 
her?" 

"What  is  there  to  reveal?  When  the  time 
comes,  I  shall  tell  her.    Come,  enough  of  this ! " 

David  rose  and  left  the  room.  When  I  was 
alone  I  thought  .  .  .  and  thought  .  .  .  and 
finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  David  was  be- 
having like  a  sensible  and  practical  man;  and  I 

336 


THE  WATCH 

even  felt  flattered  at  being  the  friend  of  such  a 
practical  man! 

And  Raisa,  in  her  everlasting  black  woollen 
gown,  suddenly  began  to  appear  charming  and 
worthy  of  the  most  devoted  love ! 

XV 

David's  father  still  did  not  arrive  and  did  not 
even  send  letters.  Summer  had  long  since  come, 
the  month  of  June  was  drawing  to  a  close.  We 
were  worn  out  with  anticipation. 

In  the  meantime  rumours  began  to  circulate  to 
the  effect  that  Latkin  had  suddenly  grown  much 
worse,  and  the  first  any  one  knew,  his  family 
would  die  of  hunger,  if  the  house  did  not  tumble 
down  and  crush  them  all  under  the  roof.  David 
even  changed  countenance  and  became  so  vicious 
and  surly  that  one  dared  not  speak  to  him.  I  did 
not  meet  Raisa  at  all.  Now  and  then  she  flitted 
past  at  a  distance,  tripping  briskly  across  the 
street  with  her  beautiful  light  gait,  straight  as  an 
arrow,  with  folded  arms,  a  dark  and  intelligent 
look  under  her  long  eyebrows,  and  a  careworn  ex- 
pression on  her  pale,  sweet  face — that  was  all. 

My  aunt,  with  the  assistance  of  her  Trankvilli- 
tatin,  tormented  me  as  of  old,  and  as  of  old  she 
kept  whispering  reproachfully  in  my  very  ear: 
"  Thief,  sir,  thief!  "  But  I  paid  no  attention  to 
her;  and  my  father  continued  to  bustle,  work 

337 


THE  WATCH 

sedulously,  run  about  and  write,  and  would  not 
listen  to  anything. 

One  day,  as  I  was  walking  past  the  familiar 
apple-tree,  I  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  well- 
known  spot,  more  as  a  matter  of  habit  than  any- 
thing else,  and  suddenly  it  struck  me  that  a  cer- 
tain change  had  taken  place  in  the  surface  of  the 
ground  which  covered  our  hoard.  ...  A  sort  of 
hump  had  made  its  appearance  where  there  had 
previously  been  a  depression,  and  bits  of  the  rub- 
bish were  lying  in  a  different  position!  "  What 's 
the  meaning  of  this? "  I  thought  to  myself.  "  Is 
it  possible  that  some  one  has  penetrated  our  secret 
and  has  dug  up  the  watch? " 

I  must  convince  myself  with  my  own  eyes.  I 
felt  the  most  complete  indifference,  of  course, 
toward  the  watch  rusting  there  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth;  but  no  other  person  could  be  per- 
mitted to  make  use  of  it!  Accordingly,  on  the 
following  day  I  rose  before  dawn  once  more,  and 
arming  myself  with  a  knife,  I  wended  my  way 
to  the  garden,  hunted  up  the  marked  spot 
beneath  the  apple-tree,  set  to  digging,  and 
after  digging  a  hole  about  two  feet  deep,  I  was 
forced  to  the  conviction  that  the  watch  had  dis- 
appeared; that  some  one  had  got  at  it,  taken  it 
out,  stolen  it ! 

But  who  could  have  .  .  .  taken  it  out — except 
David? 

What  other  person  knew  where  it  was  ? 

338 


THE  WATCH 

I  filled  up  the  hole,  and  returned  to  the  house. 
I  felt  myself  deeply  injured. 

'  Assuming,"  I  thought,  "  that  David  had  need 
of  the  watch  in  order  to  save  his  future  wife  or 
her  father  from  starving  to  death.  .  .  .  Say 
what  you  will,  the  watch  was  worth  something. 
.  .  .  Still,  why  did  not  he  come  to  me  and 
say :  '  Brother ! '  ( in  David's  place  I  would  have 
infallibly  said  brother) , '  brother !  I  am  in  need  of 
money ;  thou  hast  none,  I  know,  but  permit  me  to 
make  use  of  that  watch  which  we  buried  together 
under  the  old  apple-tree.  It  is  doing  no  one  any 
good,  and  I  shall  be  so  grateful  to  thee,  brother ! ' 
With  what  joy  I  should  have  given  my  consent! 
But  to  act  secretly,  in  a  treacherous  manner,  not 
to  trust  his  friend.  .  .  .  No!  No  passion,  no 
need  could  excuse  that!" 

I  repeat  that  I  was  deeply  wounded.  I  began 
to  display  coldness,  to  sulk.  .  .  . 

But  David  was  not  one  of  those  who  notice  such 
things  and  are  worried  thereby. 

I  began  to  drop  hints.  .  .  . 

But  David  did  not  seem  to  understand  my  hints 
in  the  least. 

I  said  in  his  presence  how  low  in  my  eyes  was 
the  man  who,  having  a  friend  and  understanding 
the  full  significance  of  that  sacred  sentiment, 
friendship,  did  not  possess,  nevertheless,  sufficient 
magnanimity  to  avoid  having  recourse  to  cun- 
ning ;  as  though  anything  could  be  concealed ! 

839 


THE  WATCH 

As  I  uttered  these  last  words  I  laughed  scorn- 
fully. 

But  David  never  turned  a  hair ! 

At  last  I  asked  him  outright,  whether  he  sup- 
posed our  watch  had  continued  to  go  for  a  while 
after  it  was  buried  in  the  earth,  or  had  stopped 
immediately. 

He  answered  me—"  The  deuce  knows!  Well, 
thou  hast  found  a  fine  thing  to  meditate  about! " 

I  did  not  know  what  to  think.  David,  evi- 
dently, had  something  on  his  heart  ....  only  it 
was  not  the  theft  of  the  watch.  An  unforeseen 
incident  demonstrated  to  me  his  innocence. 

XVI 

One  day  I  was  returning  home  through  a  cross- 
alley  which  I  generally  avoided  using,  because 
in  it  there  was  a  detached  house  where  my  enemy 
Trankvillitatin  lodged ;  but  on  this  occasion  Fate 
led  me  thither.  As  I  was  passing  under  the 
closed  window  of  a  drinking-establishment  I 
suddenly  heard  the  voice  of  our  servant  Vasily,  a 
free  and  easy  young  fellow,  a  great  '  dawdler 
and  idler"  as  my  father  expressed  it, — but  also  a 
great  conqueror  of  feminine  hearts,  on  which  he 
acted  by  means  of  witty  remarks,  dancing  and 
playing  on  the  torban.1 

"  And  what  do  you  think  they  hit  upon? "  said 

1  A  sort  of  bagpipes.— Translator. 

840. 


THE  WATCH 

Vasfly,  whom  I  could  not  see,  although  I  could 
hear  him  very  distinctly ;  he  was  probably  sitting 
just  there,  close  to  the  window,  with  a  comrade, 
over  a  cup  of  tea,  and,  as  often  happens  with  peo- 
ple in  a  closed  room,  was  talking  loudly,  without 
a  suspicion  that  any  passer-by  in  the  street  could 
hear  every  word:  — "  What  do  you  think  they  hit 
upon  ?    They  buried  it  in  the  earth ! " 

'  Thou  liest!" — growled  another  voice. 

'  They  did,  I  tell  thee.  We  have  such  ray- 
markible  young  gentlemen  at  our  house.  That 
David  in  particular  .  .  .  .  he  's  a  regular  iEsop. 
I  get  up  just  at  break  of  day,  and  step  to  the  win- 
dow, so  ...  I  look  out— and  what  do  I  see?  . 
Our  two  nice  little  dears  are  walking  in  the  gar- 
den carrying  that  same  watch,  and  they  dug  a 
hole  under  the  apple-tree — and  in  they  put  it,  just 
as  though  it  had  been  a  baby!  And  then  they 
smoothed  over  the  earth,  by  heaven,  those  good- 
for-nothings  ! " 

'Akh,  the  deuce  take  them!"— said  Vasily's 
companion. — "Too  much  good  living,  of  course. 
Well,  and  what  then?  Didst  thou  dig  up  the 
watch?" 

'  Certainly  I  did.  I  have  it  now.  Only  I  can't 
display  it  at  present.  There  was  altogether  too 
much  of  a  row  over  it.  That  David  pulled  it  out 
from  under  the  spine  of  our  old  woman  that  very 
night." 

"O-Oh!" 

341 


THE  WATCH 

'He  did,  I  tell  thee.  Quite  unpardonable. 
And  so  I  can't  show  it.  But  wait  until  some  offi- 
cers come :  I  '11  sell  it  to  some  one,  or  gamble  it 
away  at  cards." 

I  listened  no  longer,  but  rushed  headlong  home 
and  straight  to  David. 

"Brother!'  I  began,— "  brother!  Forgive 
me !  I  have  been  guilty  toward  thee !  I  have  sus- 
pected thee!  I  have  accused  thee!  Thou  seest 
how  excited  I  am !    Forgive  me ! " 

■  What 's  the  matter  with  thee? "  asked  David. 
-"Explain  thyself." 

"  I  suspected  thee  of  having  dug  up  our  watch 
from  under  the  apple-tree! " 

"  That  watch  again !    Why,  is  n't  it  there? ': 

"  No,  it  is  not;  I  thought  that  thou  hadst  taken 
it,  in  order  to  aid  thy  friends.  And  it  was  all  that 
Vasily!" 

I  told  David  all  I  had  heard  under  the  window 
of  the  dram-shop. 

But  how  shall  I  describe  my  amazement?  I 
had  assumed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  David 
would  be  indignant ;  but  I  could  not  possibly  have 
foreseen  what  would  happen  to  him!  Barely  had 
I  finished  my  tale  when  he  flew  into  an  indescrib- 
able rage!  David,  who  had  never  borne  himself 
otherwise  than  with  scorn  toward  this  whole 
"  petty  "  caper  with  the  watch,  as  he  termed  it, — 
that  same  David  who  had  more  than  once  declared 
that  it  was  not  worth  an  empty  egg-shell,— sud- 

342 


THE  WATCH 

denly  sprang  from  his  seat,  flushed  crimson  all 
over,  set  his  teeth  and  clenched  his  fists. 

"  Things  cannot  be  left  in  this  state ! "  he  said 
at  last.— "How  dares  he  appropriate  other  peo- 
ple's property?  Just  wait,  I'll  teach  him  a  les- 
son !    I  won't  connive  at  thievery! " 

I  must  confess  that  to  this  day  I  do  not  under- 
stand what  could  have  so  enraged  David ;  whether 
it  was  that  he  was  already  irritated  and  Vasily's 
behaviour  merely  poured  oil  on  the  fire,  or  whe- 
ther my  suspicions  had  wounded  him,  I  cannot 
say;  but  I  had  never  seen  him  so  excited.  With 
gaping  mouth  I  stood  before  him,  and  simply 
wondered  how  he  could  breathe  so  heavily  and 
forcibly. 

"What  dost  thou  intend  to  do?"  I  asked  at 
last. 

"  Thou  shalt  see— after  dinner,  when  thy  fa- 
ther lies  down  for  his  nap.  I  '11  hunt  up  that  wag ! 
I  '11  have  a  little  talk  with  him! " 

"  Well,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  I  would  n't  like 
to  be  in  that  '  wag's '  place !  What  will  come  of 
this,  O  Lord,  my  God?" 

XVII 

This  is  what  came  of  it. 

Just  as  soon  after  dinner  as  there  reigned  that 
slumberous  suffocating  tranquillity  which  to  this 
day  is  spread  like  a  hot  bed  of  down  over  the  Rus- 

843 


THE  WATCH 

sian  house  and  the  Russian  people  in  the  middle 
of  the  day  after  savoury  viands  have  been  par- 
taken of,  David  (I  followed  on  his  heels  with  a 
sinking  heart)  — David  wended  his  way  to  the 
servants'  hall  and  called  Vasily  out.  At  first  the 
latter  was  unwilling  to  come,  but  ended  by  obey- 
ing and  following  him  into  the  little  garden. 

David  stood  before  him,  almost  touching  his 
breast.    Vasily  was  a  whole  head  taller  than  he. 

'Vasily  Terentieff!"  began  my  comrade  in  a 
firm  voice,  "  six  weeks  ago  thou  didst  dig  up  from 
under  this  apple-tree  the  watch  which  we  had  con- 
cealed there.  Thou  hadst  no  right  to  do  that ;  the 
watch  did  not  belong  to  thee.  Give  it  here  this 
very  minute!" 

Vasily  came  near  losing  countenance,  but  im- 
mediately recovered  himself.  "What  watch? 
What  are  you  talking  about?  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it !    I  have  n't  any  watch  at  all! " 

"  I  know  what  I  am  saying,  and  don't  lie,  thou. 
Thou  hast  the  watch.    Hand  it  over!  " 

"I  haven't  got  your  watch." 

"  Then  why  didst  thou  say  in  the  public- 
house  .  .  ."  I  began ;  but  David  stopped  me. 

"  Vasily  Terentieff," — he  articulated  in  a  dull 
and  threatening  voice, — "we  are  authentically 
informed  that  thou  hast  the  watch.  I  tell  thee,  as 
a  favour,  to  hand  it  over.— And  if  thou  dost 
not  .  .  .  ." 

Vasily  grinned  insolently. 

344 


THE  WATCH 

"And  what  will  you  do  to  me  then?     Come, 

sir!" 

"What?— Both  of  us  will  fight  with  thee  until 
thou  conquerest  us  or  we  conquer  thee." 

Vasily  burst  out  laughing. 

"Fight?— That's  no  business  for  young  gen- 
tlemen!   Fight  with  a  serf?  " 

David  suddenly  seized  Vasily  by  the  waistcoat. 

"  But  we  are  n't  going  to  fight  thee  with  our 
fists,"  he  ejaculated, gnashing  his  teeth,— "under- 
stand that !  But  I  will  give  thee  a  knife  and  will 
take  one  myself  ....  Well,  and  then  we  '11  see 
who's  who!  Alexyei!"— he  said  to  me  imperi- 
ously,—"  run  for  my  big  knife;  thou  knowest 
which— the  one  with  the  bone  haft;  it  is  lying 
yonder  on  the  table;  and  I  have  another  in  my 
pocket." 

Vasily  suddenly  came  near  falling  in  a  swoon. 
David  still  held  him  fast  by  the  waistcoat. 

"Mercy  ....  have  mercy,  David  Egoritch!" 
—he  stammered;  tears  even  started  to  his  eyes. 
"What  are  you  doing?  What  are  you  doing? 
Let  me  go ! " 

"  I  won't  let  thee  go.— And  I  won't  spare  thee! 
If  thou  eludest  us  to-day  we  will  begin  again  to- 
morrow.— Alyosha!  where 's  that  knife?' 

"David  Egoritch!"  roared  Vasily,  "do  not 
commit  murder.  .  .  .  Who  ever  saw  the  like  of 
this?  And  the  watch  ....  I  really  did  .  .  .  . 
I  was  joking.    I  '11  fetch  it  to  you  this  very  mjn- 

345 


THE  WATCH 

ute.  How  can  you  go  on  like  that?  First  you 
threaten  to  rip  up  Khrisanfa  Lukitch's  belly,  and 
now  you  threaten  me!— Let  me  go,  David  Ego- 
ritch.  .  .  .  Please  to  receive  your  watch.  Only 
don't  tell  your  papa." 

David  released  Vasily's  waistcoat.  I  looked 
into  his  face;  really,  it  was  enough  to  scare  a 
bolder  person  than  Vasily.  It  was  so  dismal  .  .  . 
and  cold  .  .  .  and  malignant.  .  .  . 

Vasily  darted  into  the  house  and  immediately 
returned  thence  with  the  watch  in  his  hand. — Si- 
lently he  handed  it  to  David,  and  only  as  he  was 
on  his  way  back  to  the  house  did  he  exclaim  aloud 
on  the  threshold:  "  Phew,  here 's  a  pretty  go! " 

His  face  was  still  distorted  beyond  recognition. 
David  nodded  his  head  and  went  off  to  our  room. 
Again  I  trudged  after  him. 

"  Suvoroff!  A  regular  Suvoroff!"  I  thought 
to  myself.— At  that  time,  in  1801,  Suvoroff  was 
our  leading  popular  hero. 


XVIII 

David  locked  the  door  behind  him,  laid  the  watch 
on  the  table,  folded  his  arms  and — oh,  marvellous 
to  relate!— burst  out  laughing.— As  I  looked  at 
him  I  began  to  laugh  also. 

"What  an  astounding  dodger!"  he  began. — 
"  We  cannot  possibly  rid  ourselves  of  this  watch. 

346 


THE  WATCH 

It  is  bewitched,  it  really  is.  And  what  made  me 
go  into  a  rage  so  all  of  a  sudden? " 

'Yes,  what?"  I  repeated.— "Thou  mightest 
have  left  it  with  Vasily  .  .  .  ." 

"Well,  no,"  interrupted  David.— "  That's  all 
fiddlesticks!    But  what  shall  we  do  with  it  now? " 

"Yes!    What?" 

We  both  riveted  our  eyes  on  the  watch,  and  fell 
to  thinking.  Adorned  with  a  string  of  sky-blue 
glass  beads  (the  ill-starred  Vasily  in  his  headlong 
haste  had  not  had  time  to  detach  this  string,  which 
belonged  to  him ) ,  it  was  very  quietly  performing 
its  functions;  it  ticked  somewhat  unevenly,  it  is 
true,  and  moved  its  brass  minute-hand  slowly. 

'  Shall  we  bury  it  again?  Or  fling  it  into  the 
stove? "  I  suggested  at  last. — "  Or,  see  here, — why 
not  make  a  present  of  it  to  Latkin? " 

"  No,"  replied  David.—"  That  won't  do  at  all. 
But  here's  an  idea:  a  commission  has  been  insti- 
tuted in  the  Governor's  chancellery  to  receive  sub- 
scriptions for  the  benefit  of  the  inhabitants  of 
KasimorT  who  have  been  burned  out  of  house  and 
home.  They  say  that  the  town  of  Kasimoff  has 
been  reduced  to  ashes,  with  all  its  churches.  And 
they  say  that  everything  is  accepted;  not  alone 
bread  and  money,  but  articles  of  every  descrip- 
tion.—Let  's  give  the  watch  to  them!    Hey? " 

"We  will!  We  will!"  I  interposed.-"  That's 
a  fine  idea!  But  I  assumed  that  as  the  family  of 
thy  friends  is  in  need  .  .  .  ." 

347 


THE  WATCH 

"No,  no;  give  it  to  the  commission!— The 
Latkins  will  get  along  without  it.— To  the  com- 
mission with  it!" 

"  Well,  if  it  must.be  the  commission,  it  must. — 
Only  I  suppose  that  we  must  write  something  to 
the  Governor  to  go  with  it." 

David  looked  at  me.     '  Dost  think  so? '; 

"  Yes ;  of  course  it  is  not  necessary  to  write 
much.    But  so— only  a  few  words." 

"  For  example  ? " 

"  For  example  ....  we  might  begin  thus : 
'  Being  '  ...  or,  better  still,  'Actuated  '...." 

"  '  Actuated  '  is  good.  .  .  ." 

"  Then  we  must  say :  '  The  which  small  mite  of 
ours  '...." 

Mite '  .  .  .  .  is  good  also ;  well,  take  thy 
pen,  sit  down,  write,  go  ahead ! " 

"  I  will  first  make  a  rough  draft,"  I  remarked. 

"Well,  do  so;  only  write,  write  ....  And 
in  the  meantime  I  will  polish  it  up  with  some 
chalk." 

I  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  mended  my  pen; 
but  before  I  had  had  time  to  set  at  the  top  of  the 
page:  "To  His  Excellency,  Mr.  Radiant  Prince" 
(our  Governor  at  that  time  was  Prince  X.),  I 
stopped  short,  astounded  by  an  unusual  noise 
which  had  suddenly  arisen  in  our  house.  David 
also  noticed  the  noise  and  also  stopped  short,  with 
the  watch  held  aloft  in  his  left  hand,  and  the  rag 
smeared  with  chalk  in  his  right.  We  exchanged 
glances.     What  was  that  piercing  shriek?    That 

348 


THE  WATCH 

was  aunty  squealing.  .  .  .  And  what  was  this? 
— It  was  the  voice  of  my  father,  hoarse  with  rage. 
'The  watch!    The  watch!"  roared  some  one, 
probably  Trankvillitatin. 

Feet  trampled,  soles  squeaked,  the  whole  horde 
was  running  .  .  .  making  straight  for  us.  I  was 
swooning  with  terror ;  and  David  was  as  white  as 
clay,  but  with  the  look  of  an  eagle. 

'  That  villain  Vasily  has  betrayed  us,"  he  whis- 
pered through  his  teeth.  .  .  . 

The  door  was  flung  wide  open,  and  my  father 
in  his  dressing-gown,  and  without  a  necktie,  and 
my  aunt  in  her  dressing-sack,  Trankvillitatin, 
Vasily,  Yushka,  another  small  boy,  and  the  cook 
Agapit,  all  invaded  the  room. 

'  Scoundrels! "  yelled  my  father,  barely  able  to 
draw  his  breath  .  ..."  at  last  we  have  caught 
you ! " — And  espying  the  watch  in  David's  hands : 
— "  Hand  it  over! " — roared  my  father.—"  Hand 
over  that  watch!" 

But  David,  without  uttering  a  word,  darted  to 
the  open  window,  sprang  through  it  into  the  yard, 
and  then  made  for  the  street ! 

Accustomed  to  imitate  my  model  in  all  things, 
I  also  jumped  out,  and  rushed  after  David.  .  .  . 
'  Catch  them!    Hold  them!  "  thundered  a  wild 
chorus  of  voices  behind  us. 

But  we  were  already  fleeing  headlong  down  the 
street,  with  no  caps  on  our  heads,  David  in  the 
lead,  I  a  few  paces  behind  him,  and  after  us  came 
the  trampling  and  roar  of  pursuit. 

34,9 


THE  WATCH 

XIX 

Many  years  have  elapsed  since  all  these  events ;  I 
have  thought  of  them  many  a  time— and  to  this 
day  I  cannot  understand  the  cause  of  that  rage 
with  which  my  father  was  seized,  after  having  so 
recently  forbidden  the  mere  mention  of  that 
watch  of  which  he  was  so  tired,  just  as  I  could  not 
understand  then  the  wrath  of  David  when  he 
learned  of  its  theft  by  Vasily.— But  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  some  mysterious  force  was  con- 
tained within  it.  Vasily  had  not  betrayed  us,  as 
David  supposed, — he  was  in  no  mood  for  that;  he 
was  too  thoroughly  intimidated;  but  simply,  one 
of  our  maids  had  seen  the  watch  in  his  hands  and 
had  immediately  reported  the  fact  to  my  aunt. 
And  thus  the  spark  had  kindled  a  great  fire. 

So  then,  we  dashed  headlong  down  the  street, 
along  its  very  centre.  The  passers-by  who  met 
us  came  to  a  halt  or  stepped  aside  in  perplexity. 
I  remember  that  one  retired  Second-Major,  a 
famous  breeder  of  greyhounds,  suddenly  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  window  of  his  lodgings,  and, 
all  red  in  the  face,  with  his  body  hanging  in  the 
balance,  began  to  emit  a  wild  view-halloo ! 

"Stop!  Hold  them!"  continued  to  thunder 
after  us. — David  ran  onward,  swinging  the 
watch  round  his  head,  and  now  and  then  giving  a 
skip ;  I  skipped  also,  and  at  the  same  places  as  he. 

"  Whither  away? "  I  shout  to  David,  perceiving 

350 


THE  WATCH 

that  he  is  turning  from  the  street  into  an  alley, 
and  making  the  turn  with  him. 

"To  the  Oka!"— he  shouts  back.— "Into  the 
water,  into  the  river,  to  the  devil  with  it! " 

"  Halt!    Halt! "  roar  the  people  behind  us.  .  .  . 

But  we  are  already  flying  through  the  alley. 
And  now  a  chill  breath  wafts  to  meet  us,  and 
the  river  is  before  us,  and  the  steep,  muddy 
descent,  and  the  wooden  bridge  with  a  train  of 
wagons  extending  across  it,  and  the  soldier  with 
his  pike  by  the  barrier— soldiers  carried  pikes  in 
those  days  ....  David  is  already  on  the  bridge, 
he  dashes  past  the  soldier,  who  tries  to  prod  him 
in  the  leg  with  his  pike,— and  collides  with  a  pass- 
ing calf.— David  instantly  leaps  upon  the  railing, 
— he  emits  a  joyful  exclamation.  .  .  .  Some- 
thing white,  something  blue  has  glittered,  has 
flashed  through  the  air— it  is  the  silver  watch  with 
Vasily's  chain  flying  into  the  water.  .  .  .  But  at 
this  point  something  incredible  occurs !  David's 
legs  whirl  upward  in  pursuit  of  the  watch  and  he 
himself,  head  down,  hands  in  front  of  him,  jacket- 
tails  fluttering  in  the  air,  describes  a  sharp  curve 
—frightened  frogs  leap  thus  on  a  hot  day  from 
the  lofty  shore  into  the  waters  of  a  pond— and 
instantly  disappears  beyond  the  railing  of  the 
bridge  ....  and  then— flop!  and  a  heavy  splash 
below.  .  .  . 

What  my  sensations  were  it  is  utterly  beyond 
my  power  to  describe.    I  was  a  few  paces  distant 

351 


THE  WATCH 

from  David  when  he  sprang  from  the  railing  .... 
but  I  do  not  even  recollect  whether  I  screamed ;  I 
do  not  think  I  was  even  frightened :  I  was  struck 
dumb  and  dizzy.  My  arms  and  legs  lost  their 
power.  Around  me  people  were  jostling  and 
running;  some  of  them  seemed  familiar  to  me; 
Trofimitch  suddenly  flitted  past,  the  soldier  with 
the  pike  darted  off  somewhere  to  one  side,  the 
horses  of  the  wagon-train  walked  hurriedly  past, 
tossing  on  high  their  muzzles,  which  were  bound 
together.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  a  ringing  in  my 
ears,  and  some  one  gave  me  a  smart  blow  in  the 
nape  of  the  neck  and  along  the  whole  length  of 
my  spine.  ...  I  had  fallen  down  in  a  swoon. 

I  remember  that  I  rose  to  my  feet  afterward, 
and,  perceiving  that  no  one  was  paying  any  heed 
to  me,  I  approached  the  railing,  not  on  the 
side  from  which  David  had  jumped  (it  seemed  to 
me  a  dreadful  thing  to  approach  that  one)  — but 
the  other,  and  began  to  stare  at  the  river,  turbu- 
lent, blue,  and  swollen;  I  remember  that  not  far 
from  the  bridge,  on  the  shore,  I  noticed  a  boat 
moored,  and  in  the  boat  several  men,  and  one  of 
them,  all  wet  and  glistening  in  the  sun,  bending 
over  the  edge  of  the  boat,  was  dragging  something 
from  the  water — something  not  very  big,  some 
long,  dark  thing  which  at  first  I  took  for  a  trunk 
or  a  basket;  but  on  looking  more  intently  I  saw 
that  that  thing  was— David!  Then  I  gave  a  great 
start,  began  to  shout  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  and 

352 


THE  WATCH 

ran  to  the  boat,  pushing  my  way  through  the 
crowd;  and  having  reached  it,  I  became  daunted 
and  began  to  look  about  me.  Among  the  people 
who  surrounded  it  I  recognised  Trankvillitatin, 
our  cook  Agapit  with  a  boot  on  his  arm,  Yiishka 
and  Vasily.  .  .  .  The  wet,  glistening  man  had 
pulled  from  under  the  boat  by  his  armpits  the 
body  of  David,  whose  hands  were  raised  on  a  level 
with  his  face,  as  though  he  were  desirous  of  hid- 
ing it  from  the  eyes  of  strangers,  and  had  laid 
him  on  his  back  upon  the  muddy  shore.  David 
did  not  stir;  he  seemed  to  have  stretched  himself 
out,  drawn  in  his  heels,  and  thrust  out  his  belly. 
His  face  was  of  a  greenish  hue,  his  eyes  were 
rolled  up,  and  the  water  was  dripping  from  his 
hair.  The  wet  man  who  had  pulled  him  out,  a 
factory -hand,  judging  from  his  attire,  began  to 
narrate,  shivering  with  cold  the  while  and  inces- 
santly pushing  the  hair  back  from  his  brow,  how 
he  had  done  it.  He  narrated  very  decorously  and 
carefully. 

"What  do  I  see,  gentlemen?  This  young  fel- 
low diving  from  the  bridge.  .-.  .  Well!  .  .  .  . 
I  immediately  run  down-stream,  for  I  know  that 
he  has  fallen  straight  into  the  current,  which  will 
carry  him  under  the  bridge— well,  and  then 
that  would  be  the  last  of  him !  I  look :  something 
resembling  a  shaggy  cap  is  floating,  but  it  was 
his  head.  Well,  and  so  I  immediately  dashed 
into  the  water  in  a  lively  manner.     I  clutched 

353 


THE  WATCH 

him.  .  .  .  Well,  and  there  was  no  great  art  in 
that!" 

Two  or  three  words  of  approbation  made  them- 
selves audible  among  the  crowd. 

"  We  must  warm  thee  up  now.  Come  along, 
let 's  sip  a  cup  of  liquor,"  remarked  some  one. 

But  here  some  one  suddenly  made  his  way  con- 
vulsively to  the  front.  ...  It  was  Vasily. 

"  What  are  ye  about,  ye  Orthodox?  "—he  cried 
tearfully.— "We  must  roll  him.  This  is  our 
young  gentleman!" 

"Roll  him,  roll  him!"  resounded  through  the 
crowd,  which  was  constantly  increasing. 

"Hang  him  up  by  his  feet!  That's  the  best 
remedy!" 

"Put  him  belly  down  over  a  barrel,  and  roll 
him  back  and  forth,  until  ....  Take  him  up, 
my  lads ! " 

"Don't  you  dare  to  touch  him!"— interposed 
the  soldier  with  the  pike. — "  He  must  be  taken  to 
the  guard-house." 

"Rabble!"— Trofimitch's  bass  voice  was 
wafted  from  somewhere  or  other. 

"  Why,  he  is  alive! "  I  suddenly  cry  at  the  top 
of  my  lungs,  almost  in  affright.  I  had  been  on 
the  point  of  putting  my  face  against  his  face.  .  .  . 
"  So  that  is  what  drowned  people  are  like,"  I  was 
thinking  to  myself,  as  my  heart  died  within  me 
.  .  .  .  when  suddenly  I  saw  David's  lips  trem- 
ble, and  a  little  water  flow  from  them.  .  .  . 

354 


THE  WATCH 

I  was  instantly  thrust  aside,  dragged  away ;  all 
darted  toward  him. 

V  Roll  him,  roll  him!  "—voices  began  to  be  up- 
lifted. 

"No,  no,  stop!"  shouted  Vasily.— "  Take  him 
home  .  .  .  home!" 

"Take  him  home,"— chimed  in  Trankvillitatin 
himself. 

"We'll  hurry  him  thither  in  a  jiffy— we  shall 
be  able  to  see  better  there,"  went  on  Vasily.  .  .  . 
(I  took  a  great  liking  to  Vasily,  beginning  with 
that  day.) — "Brothers!  Isn't  there  a  bast-mat 
handy?  If  not,  lift  him  by  his  head  and  his 
heels.  .  .  ." 

"Stay!  Here's  a  bast-mat!  Lay  him  on  it! 
Catch  hold !  March !  Slowly :  as  though  he  were 
riding  in  a  coach  of  state ! " 

And  a  few  moments  later  David,  borne  on  the 
bast-mat,  triumphantly  made  his  entrance  under 
our  roof. 


XX 

They  undressed  him  and  placed  him  on  the  bed. 
Already  in  the  street  he  had  begun  to  show  signs 
of  life,  he  had  bellowed  and  waved  his  hands.  .  .  . 
In  the  room  he  recovered  his  senses  completely. 
But  as  soon  as  fears  for  his  life  were  past,  and 
there  was  no  necessity  for  fussing  over  him,  wrath 

355 


THE  WATCH 

asserted  its  rights:  all  retreated  from  him  as 
though  he  had  been  a  leper. 

"May  God  punish  him!  May  God  punish 
him!" — squealed  my  aunt  so  that  she  could  be 
heard  all  over  the  house. — "  Send  him  off  some- 
where, Porfiry  Petrovitch,  or  he  will  perpetrate 
some  other  crime  which  cannot  be  endured!" 

"  I  think  this  must  be  some  sort  of  an  asp,  and 
a  mad  one  at  that,"— chimed  in  Trankvillitatin. 

'What  malice,  what  malice!"— shrilled  my 
aunt,  coming  to  the  very  door  of  our  room  so  as 
to  make  sure  that  David  heard  her.  "  First  he 
stole  the  watch,  and  then  he  flung  it  into  the  water. 
. .  .  As  much  as  to  say, '  Nobody  shall  have  it.'  .  .  . 
So  he  did !  " 

Everybody,  positively  everybody,  was  angry! 

"  David,"  I  asked  him  as  soon  as  we  were  left 
alone,  "  why  didst  thou  do  that? " 

"There  thou  goest  too," — he  retorted,  still  in 
a  very  weak  voice;  his  lips  were  blue,  and  he 
seemed  bloated  all  over.  — "What  have  I  done?" 

"  But  why  didst  thou  leap  into  the  water? " 

"Why  did  I  leap?— I  couldn't  keep  my  bal- 
ance on  the  railing,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
If  I  had  known  how  to  swim  I  would  have  leaped 
deliberately.  I  shall  certainly  learn.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  watch  is  now  done  for!  .  .  ." 

At  this  point  my  father  entered  our  room  with 
solemn  tread. 

"  I  shall  flog  thee,  without  fail,  my  dear  f el- 

356 


THE  WATCH 

low,"  he  said,  addressing  me;  "have  no  doubt  as 
to  that,  although  thou  art  too  old  to  lay  across  a 
bench  any  longer."— Then  he  stepped  up  to  the 
bed  on  which  David  was  lying.—"  In  Siberia," — 
he  began  in  a  pompous  and  impressive  tone, — "  in 
Siberia,  my  good  sir,  in  penal  servitude,  men  live 
and  die  underground  who  are  less  guilty,  less 
criminally  guilty  than  thou!  Art  thou  a  suicide, 
or  simply  a  fool?— Tell  me  that  one  thing,  pray! " 

"  I  am  not  a  suicide  nor  a  thief,"  replied  David, 
"  but  the  truth  is  the  truth :  good  people  get  sent 

to  Siberia,  better  men  than  you  and  I 

Who  should  know  that  if  not  you? " 

My  father  uttered  a  low  cry,  retreated  a  pace, 
stared  intently  at  David,  spat,  and  slowly  cross- 
ing himself,  left  the  room. 

"Dost  thou  not  like  it?"  David  called  after 
him,  thrusting  out  his  tongue.  Then  he  tried  to 
rise,  but  could  not.  —  "  Evidently,  I  have  injured 
myself  somehow,"  he  said,  groaning  and  wrin- 
kling up  his  forehead.—"  I  remember  that  I  was 
dashed  against  a  beam  by  the  water.  .  .  . 

"  Didst  thou  see  Raisa? "  he  suddenly  added. 

"No,  I  did  not  see  her.  .  .  .  Wait!  Wait! 
Wait !  Now  I  remember :  was  n't  it  she  who  was 
standing  on  the  shore  near  the  bridge?— Yes.  .  .  . 
A  dark  frock,  a  yellow  kerchief  on  her  head.  .  .  . 
It  must  have  been  she!  " 

"Well,  and  afterward  ....  didst  thou  see 
her  afterward?" 

357 


THE  WATCH 

"Afterward  ....  I  don't  know.  I  was  in 
no  mood  for  observing. — Thou  didst  leap  at  that 
moment.  .  .  ." 

David  started  up  in  alarm. 

"  My  dear  friend  Alyosha,  go  to  her  this  mo- 
ment, tell  her  that  I  am  well,  that  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  me.  I  shall  go  to  see  them  to- 
morrow. Go  quickly,  brother,  do  me  that  fa- 
vour!" 

David  stretched  out  both  hands  to  me.  .  .  . 
His  dry,  red  hair  stuck  up  in  funny  whorls  .  .  . 
but  the  deeply-moved  expression  of  his  face 
seemed  all  the  more  genuine  for  that.  I  took  my 
cap  and  left  the  house,  endeavouring  not  to  fall 
under  the  eye  of  my  father  and  not  to  remind  him 
of  his  promise. 

XXI 

"  And,  in  fact,"  I  argued  with  myself  on  my  way 
to  the  Latkins',  "  how  was  it  that  I  did  not  notice 
Raisa?  What  has  become  of  her?  For  she  must 
have  seen  .  .  .  ." 

And  suddenly  I  remembered:  at  the  very  mo- 
ment of  David's  fall  a  terrible,  heart-rending  cry 
had  rung  in  my  ears.  .  .  . 

Was  not  that  she?  But  how  was  it  that  I  had 
not  seen  her  afterward  ? 

In  front  of  the  tiny  house  in  which  Latkin 
dwelt  stretched  a  strip  of  waste  land  overgrown 

358 


THE  WATCH 

with  nettles  and  enclosed  with  a  decrepit  fence  of 
wattled  boughs.  Hardly  had  I  made  my  way 
across  this  fence  (there  was  no  gate  or  wicket  any- 
where), than  the  following  spectacle  presented 
itself  to  my  eyes.— On  the  lowest  step  of  the  porch 
in  front  of  the  house  Raisa  was  sitting  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin  propped  on  her 
interlaced  fingers;  she  was  staring  straight  in 
front  of  her ;  bv  her  side  stood  her  deaf-and-dumb 
sister  tranquilly  flourishing  a  small  whip,  and  in 
front  of  the  porch,  with  his  back  toward  me,  clad 
in  a  tattered  and  threadbare  dressing-gown,  with 
under-drawers  and  felt  boots  on  his  legs,  stood  old 
Latkin,  dangling  his  arms  and  writhing,  shifting 
from  foot  to  foot  where  he  stood  and  indulging  in 
little  leaps.  At  the  sound  of  my  footsteps  he  sud- 
denly wheeled  round,  squatted  down  on  his  heels, 
and  immediately  swooping  down  upon  me,  began 
to  say  in  an  extremely  rapid,  tremulous  voice, 
interlarded  with  breaks:  "  Tchu-tchu-tchu ! "  I 
stood  riveted  to  the  spot.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  a 
long  time,  and,  of  course,  I  would  not  have  recog- 
nised him  had  I  met  him  in  any  other  place.  That 
red,  wrinkled,  toothless  face,  those  round,  dull 
little  eyes  and  dishevelled  grey  locks,  those  twitch- 
ings,  those  leaps,  that  unintelligible,  faltering 
tongue  ....  what  was  it?  What  inhuman  de- 
spair was  torturing  that  unlucky  being?  What 
"dance  of  death"  was  this? 

"  Tchu,  tchu,"  he  stammered,  without  ceasing 

359 


THE  WATCH 

to  grimace, — "there  she  is,  Vasilievna;  she  has 
just — tchu,  tchu — gone  ....  hark!  with  a  wash- 
ing-trough along  the  roof"  (he  banged  his  head 
with  his  hand) ,  "  and  is  sitting  there  like  a  shovel; 
and  squinting,  squinting  like  Andriiisha;  cross- 
eyed Vasilievna!"  (He  probably  wanted  to  say 
"dumb.")  "Tchu!  my  cross-eyed  Vasilievna! 
There  they  are,  both  of  them,  now  in  the  same  fix. 
.  .  .  Admire,  ye  Orthodox!  I  have  only  those 
two  little  boats!    Hey?" 

Latkin  was  evidently  conscious  that  he  was  not 
talking  straight,  and  was  making  frantic  efforts 
to  explain  to  me  what  was  the  matter.  Raisa  ap- 
parently did  not  hear  what  her  father  was  saying 
at  all,  while  her  little  sister  continued  to  slash  the 
air  with  her  whip. 

"Good-bye,  jeweller,  good-bye,  good-bye! '; 
drawled  Latkin  several  times  in  succession,  with 
low  obeisances,  as  though  delighted  that  he  had, 
at  last,  caught  hold  of  an  intelligible  word. 

My  head  reeled. — "What  is  the  meaning  of 
all  this?  "  I  asked  an  old  woman  who  was  peeping 
out  of  one  of  the  windows  in  the  house. 

"  Why,  you  see,  dear  little  father,"  she  replied 
in  a  sing-song  tone,  "  they  say  that  some  man  or 
other — and  who  he  is,  the  Lord  only  knows — has 
been  drowned,  and  she  saw  it.  Well,  and  she  got 
thoroughly  scared,  I  suppose;  but  she  came  home 
all  right.  But  she  sat  straight  down  on  the  porch, 
and  since  that  minute  there  she  sits,  like  a  statue ; 

860 


THE  WATCH 

it  makes  no  difference  whether  one  speaks  to  her 
or  not.  Evidently,  she  is  doomed  to  dumbness 
also.    Axhti-kti ! " 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,"  Latkin  kept  repeat- 
ing, still  with  obeisances  as  before.  I  stepped 
up  to  Raisa  and  halted  directly  in  front  of 
her. 

'  Raisotchka,"  I  shouted,  "  what 's  the  matter 
with  thee?" 

She  made  no  reply;  just  as  though  she  did  not 
see  me.  Her  face  had  not  paled  or  changed,  but 
somehow  had  become  stony,  and  it  wore  an  ex- 
pression as  though  she  were  on  the  very  verge  of 
falling  asleep. 

"  But  she 's  cross-eyed,  cross-eyed,"  stammered 
Latkin  in  my  ear. 

I  grasped  Raisa's  hand. — "David  is  alive,"  I 
shouted  more  loudly  than  before:  "  alive  and  well. 
David  is  alive,  dost  thou  understand?  They 
pulled  him  out  of  the  water,  he  is  now  at  home  and 
has  bid  me  say  that  he  will  come  to  see  thee  to- 
morrow. .  .  .  He  is  alive!" 

Raisa  turned  her  eyes  on  me  with  apparent  diffi- 
culty ;  she  winked  the  lids  a  couple  of  times,  open- 
ing them  wider  and  wider,  then  bent  her  head  on 
one  side,  gradually  flushed  crimson  all  over,  and 
her  lips  parted.  .  .  .  She  inhaled  the  air  into  her 
lungs  with  a  slow,  full  breath,  wrinkled  her  brow 
as  though  in  pain,  and  with  a  terrible  effort  articu- 
lating: "Yes  ....  Dav  .  .  .  ali  .  .  .  .  alive!" 

361 


THE  WATCH 

rose  abruptly  from  the  porch  and  set  off  at  a 
run.  .  .  . 

"Where  art  thou  going?"  I  cried. 

But,  laughing  faintly  and  reeling,  she  was  al- 
ready running  across  the  waste  land. 

Of  course  I  darted  after  her,  while  behind  me 
rose  an  energetic  howl,  decrepit  and  childish,  from 
Latkin  and  the  deaf-and-dumb  girl.  .  .  .  Raisa 
was  making  straight  for  our  house. 

"  Well,  what  a  day  this  has  been! "  I  thought, 
as  I  strove  not  to  lag  behind  the  black  gown  which 
was  flitting  on  in  front  of  me.  ..."  Come  on! " 

XXII 

Evading  Vasily,  my  aunt,  and  even  Trankvilli- 
tatin,  Raisa  rushed  into  the  room  where  David 
lay,  and  flung  herself  straight  upon  his  breast.— 
"  Okh  ....  okh,  Davidushko!"  her  voice  rang 
out  from  under  her  dishevelled  curls; — "  okh! " 

Energetically  waving  her  hands,  she  embraced 
David  and  bent  her  head  down  to  him. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear,"  his  voice  made  itself 
audible. 

And  both  seemed  fairly  swooning  with  joy. 

"But  why  didst  thou  go  off  home,  Raisa? 
Why  didst  not  thou  wait?"  I  said  to  her.  .  .  . 
Still  she  did  not  raise  her  head.—"  Thou  wouldst 
have  seen  that  they  had  saved  him.  .  .  ." 

"Akh,  I  don't  know!     Akh,  I  don't  know! 

362 


THE  WATCH 

Don't  ask  me!  I  don't  know,  I  don't  remember 
how  I  got  home.  All  I  do  remember  is  that  I  saw 
thee  in  the  air  ...  .  something  struck  me  .  .  .  . 
But  what  came  after  that  I  don't  know." 

"  Struck  you,"  repeated  David,  and  all  three  of 
us  suddenly  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  We  felt 
very  happy. 

"  But  what  may  be  the  meaning  of  this,  pray? " 
rang  out  a  threatening  voice — the  voice  of  my  fa- 
ther—behind us.  He  was  standing  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  door.  "  Are  these  follies  coming  to  an 
end  or  not?  Where  are  we  living?  In  the  Rus- 
sian empire  or  in  the  French  republic?" 

He  stalked  into  the  room. 

"  Go  to  France,  any  of  you  who  want  to  revolt 
and  lead  a  licentious  life!  And  as  for  thee,  how 
hast  thou  dared  to  come  hither?"  he  addressed 
himself  to  Raisa,  who,  having  softly  risen  and 
turned  her  face  toward  him,  was  obviously  intimi- 
dated, but  continued  to  smile  in  a  caressing  and 
blissful  way. — "The  daughter  of  my  sworn  en- 
emy !  How  darest  thou  ?  And  thou  hast  taken  it 
into  thy  head  to  embrace  him  also!  Begone  this 
instant!  or  I  '11  .  .  .  ." 

"  Uncle,"  said  David,  sitting  up  in  bed,  "  do 
not  insult  Raisa.  She  will  go  away  ....  only, 
don't  you  insult  her." 

"And  who  appointed  thee  my  preceptor?  I 
am  not  insulting  her,  I  am  not  insulting  her!  I 
am  simply  turning  her  out  of  the  house.    I  shall 

363 


THE  WATCH 

call  thee  to  account  also.  Thou  hast  squandered 
the  property  of  other  people,  thou  hast  attempted 
thine  own  life,  thou  hast  caused  me  losses." 

"What  losses?"  interrupted  David. 

"  What  losses?  Thou  hast  ruined  thy  clothing 
— dost  thou  count  that  nothing?  And  I  gave 
money  for  liquor  to  the  men  who  brought  thee 
hither!  Thou  hast  frightened  the  whole  family 
out  of  their  lives,  and  thou  art  insolent  to  boot! 
And  if  this  wench,  forgetful  of  modesty  and  even 
of  honour  ..." 

David  sprang  from  his  bed. — "Don't  insult 
her,  I  tell  you!  " 

"Hold  thy  tongue!" 

"  Don't  you  dare  .  .  ." 

"Hold  thy  tongue!" 

"Don't  you  dare  to  defame  my  promised 
bride!"  shouted  David  at  the  top  of  his  voice,— 
"my  future  wife!" 

"Bride!"  repeated  my  father,  with  eyes  start- 
ing from  his  head.— "  Bride!— Wife!  Ho,  ho, 
ho!  .  .  ."  ("Ha,  ha,  ha!"  echoed  my  aunt  out- 
side the  door.) — "And  how  old  art  thou,  pray? 
He  has  lived  in  this  world  a  year  minus  one 
month,  the  milk  is  n't  dry  on  his  lips  yet,  the  hob- 
bledehoy! And  he  is  contemplating  matrimony! 
Why,  I  .  .  .  .  why,  thou  .  .  .  ." 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  whispered  Raisa,  turn- 
ing to  depart.    She  had  grown  livid. 

"  I  shall  not  ask  any  permission  of  you,"  David 

364 


THE  WATCH 

continued  in  a  shout,  propping  himself  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  with  his  lists,  "  but  of  my  own 
father,  who  is  bound  to  arrive  any  day  now!  I 
take  my  orders  from  him,  not  from  you;  and  as 
for  my  age,  Raisa  and  I  are  not  in  a  hurry  .... 
we  shall  wait,  say  what  you  like.  ..." 

'Hey  there,  David,  come  to  thy  senses!"  in- 
terrupted my  father;  "look  at  thyself:  thou  art 
all  in  tatters.  .  .  .  Thou  hast  lost  all  sense  of 
decorum!" 

David  clutched  at  the  breast  of  his  shirt  with  his 
hand. 

'  Whatever  you  may  say  .  .  .  ."he  repeated. 

;<  Come,  clap  thy  hand  over  his  mouth,  Porf  iry 
Petrovitch,  clap  thy  hand  over  his  mouth," 
squealed  my  aunt  outside  the  door.  —  "  And  as  for 
this  street-walker,  this  good-for-nothing  wench 

t      •      *      m        L 1 1 1  o       •       ■       •       ■ 

But  evidently  something  unusual  cut  my  aunt's 
eloquence  short  at  that  moment:  her  voice  sud- 
denly broke,  and  in  place  of  it  another,  a  hoarsely 
decrepit  and  weak  voice,  made  itself  heard.  .  .  . 
'  Brother,"  enunciated  this  feeble  voice.  .  .  . 
"Brother!  ....  Christian  soul!" 

XXIII 

We  all  turned  round Before  us,  in  the 

same  costume  in  which  I  had  recently  beheld  him, 
gaunt,  pitiful,  wild,  like  a  spectre,  stood  Latkin. 

365 


THE  WATCH 

"  But  God,"  he  articulated  in  a  childish  sort  of 
way,  elevating  on  high  his  trembling  crooked 
finger  and  scanning  my  father  with  a  feeble  gaze, 
— "God  has  punished!  And  I  have  come  for 
Va  .  .  .  yes,  yes,  for  Raisotchka.  What  is  it, 
tchu!  What  is  it  to  me?  I  shall  soon  lie  down  in 
the  earth — and  how  the  deuce  does  it  go?  A  stick 
....  another  ....  a  joist  ....  that 's  what  I 
need  ....  But  do  thou,  brother,  jeweller  .  .  .  . 
Look  out  ....  for  I  am  also  a  man!" 

Raisa  silently  walked  across  the  room  and  link- 
ing her  arm  in  his,  buttoned  his  dressing-gown. 

"  Come  along,  Vasilievna,"  he  said,  "  they  're 
all  saints  here ;  don't  go  to  their  house.  And  that 
fellow,  the  one  who  is  lying  yonder  in  the  casket," 
— he  pointed  at  David, — "  is  a  saint  also.  But  we 
are  sinners,  thou  and  I.  Well,  tchu  ....  par- 
don a  peppery  old  man,  gentlemen!  We  stole 
together! "  he  suddenly  shouted:—"  we  stole  to- 
gether! we  stole  together!"  he  repeated  with 
manifest  delight;  his  tongue  had  obeyed  him 
at  last. 

All  of  us  who  were  in  the  room  held  our  peace. 

"And  where  is  your  ....  holy  picture?"  he 
asked,  throwing  back  his  head  and  rolling  up  his 
eyes.    "  I  must  purify  myself." 

He  began  to  pray  toward  one  of  the  corners, 
crossing  himself  with  emotion  several  times  in 
succession,  tapping  his  fingers  now  against  one 
shoulder,  now  against  the  other,  and  hurriedly  re- 

366 


THE  WATCH 

peating:  "Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  Lo  .  .  .  . 
me,  OLo  .  .  .  .  me,  OLo!  .  .  .  ."  My  father, 
who  all  this  time  had  never  taken  his  eyes  from 
Latkin  nor  uttered  a  single  word,  placed  him- 
self beside  him  and  began  to  cross  himself  also. 
Then  he  turned  to  him,  made  a  very  low  obei- 
sance to  him  so  that  he  touched  the  floor  with  one 
hand,1  and  saying:  "And  do  thou  also  forgive 
me,  Martinyan  Gavrilitch,"  he  kissed  him  on 
the  shoulder.  Latkin  in  reply  smacked  his  lips 
in  the  air  and  blinked  his  eyes ;  it  is  hardly  prob- 
able that  he  understood  what  he  was  doing. 
Then  my  father  addressed  himself  to  all  who 
were  present  in  the  room,  to  David,  Raisa,  and 
me: 

"  Do  what  you  will,  act  as  you  see  fit,"  he  said 
in  a  quiet,  sorrowful  voice — and  withdrew. 

My  aunt  tried  to  approach  him,  but  he  yelled 
at  her  sharply  and  gruffly. 

"  Me,  O  Lo  .  .  .  .  me,  O  Lo  .  .  .  .  have  mercy ! " 
repeated  Latkin.—"  I  am  a  man!" 

"  Good-bye,  Davfdushko,"  said  Raisa,  as  she 
also  quitted  the  room,  accompanied  by  the  old 
man. 

"  I  shall  go  to  your  house  to-morrow,"  David 
called  after  them,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  wall, 
he  whispered:  "I  am  very  tired;  it  wouldn't  be 

1  This  takes  the  place  of  a  full  prostration  on  the  knees  with  the 
brow  touching  the  floor  for  elderly  or  ailing  persons.  The  kiss  on 
the  shoulder  is  a  sign  of  contrition  or  humility,  that  being  the  way 
the  peasants  used  to  kiss  their  masters.— Translator. 

367 


THE  WATCH 

a  bad  thing  to  get  a  little  sleep  now,"— and  fell 
silent. 

For  a  long  time  I  did  not  leave  our  room.  I  hid 
myself.  I  could  not  forget  what  my  father 
had  threatened  to  do  to  me.  But  my  apprehen- 
sions proved  vain.  He  came  across  me— and  did 
not  utter  a  word.  He  seemed  to  feel  ill  at  ease 
himself.  However,  night  soon  descended,  and  all 
quieted  down  in  the  house. 

XXIV 

On  the  following  morning  David  rose  as  though 
nothing  had  happened,  and  not  long  after,  on 
that  same  day,  two  important  events  occurred :  in 
the  morning  old  Latkin  died,  and  toward  evening 
uncle  Egor,  David's  father,  arrived  in  Ryazan. 
Without  having  sent  any  preliminary  letter,  with- 
out having  forewarned  any  one,  he  descended 
upon  us  like  snow  on  the  head.1  My  father  was 
extremely  disturbed  and  did  not  know  wherewith 
he  should  entertain,  where  he  should  seat  the  wel- 
come guest,  and  bustled  about  like  a  culprit;  but 
my  uncle  did  not  appear  to  be  greatly  touched  by 
his  brother's  anxious  zeal;  he  kept  repeating, 
"  What 's  the  use  of  that?  "—and  "  I  do  not  want 
anything."  He  treated  my  aunt  with  even 
greater  coldness;  however,  she  did  not  like  him 
much,  anyway.    In  her  eyes  he  was  a  godless  man, 

1  Suddenly,  unexpectedly.  —Translator. 

368 


THE  WATCH 

a  heretic,  a  Voltairian  ....  (he  actually  had 
learned  the  French  language  in  order  to  read 
Voltaire  in  the  original). 

I  found  uncle  Egor  such  as  David  had  de- 
scribed him  to  me.  He  was  a  big,  heavy,  ponder- 
ous man,  with  a  broad,  pock-marked  face,  dig- 
nified and  serious.  He  wore  constantly  a  hat  with 
a  plume,  lace  ruffles  and  frill,  and  a  short-coat  of 
tobacco-brown  hue,  with  a  steel  sword  on  his  hip. 
David  was  unspeakably  delighted  to  see  him— his 
face  even  grew  radiant  and  handsomer,  and  his 
eyes  became  quite  different— merry,  quick,  and 
brilliant;  but  he  strove  his  best  to  moderate  his 
joy  and  did  not  express  it  in  words:  he  was  afraid 
of  growing  faint-hearted. 

The  very  first  night  after  uncle  Egor's  arrival 
the  two— father  and  son— locked  themselves  up 
in  the  room  assigned  to  the  former  and  talked  to- 
gether for  a  long  time  in  an  undertone ;  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  I  noticed  that  my  uncle  gazed  at 
his  son  in  a  peculiarly  affectionate  and  trustful 
manner:  he  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  him. 
David  took  him  to  the  requiem  service  *  for  Lat- 
kin ;  I  also  went  thither :  my  father  did  not  hinder 
me,  but  remained  at  home  himself.  Raisa  sur- 
prised me  by  her  calmness;  she  had  grown  very 

1  Not  the  funeral,  or  even  a  requiem  liturgy,  but  a  service  composed 
of  wonderfully-beautiful  prayers  and  hymns.  Often  it  is  held  in  the 
house  of  the  deceased  twice  a  day  during  the  three  days  which  precede 
burial  (whlzh  is  what  is  meant  here,  although  in  this  case  it  was  in 
church),  and  at  any  time  thereafter  when  the  friends  and  relatives 
request  it.— Translator. 

869 


THE  WATCH 

pale  and  thin,  but  she  shed  no  tears,  and  spoke 
and  behaved  very  simply;  and  nevertheless, 
strange  to  say,  I  discerned  in  her  a  certain  maj- 
esty: the  unconscious  majesty  of  grief  which  for- 
gets itself.  Uncle  Egor  made  her  acquaintance 
then  and  there,  on  the  church  porch ;  afterward  it 
was  obvious  from  the  way  he  treated  her  that 
David  had  already  spoken  to  him  of  her.  He 
took  as  great  a  liking  to  her  as  his  son  had  done ; 
I  could  read  that  in  David's  eyes  when  he  looked 
at  them.  I  remember  how  they  flashed  when 
his  father  said  in  his  presence,  in  speaking  of 
her:  "  She  's  a  clever  lass;  she  will  make  a  good 
housewife."  At  the  Latkins'  house  I  was  told 
that  the  old  man  had  expired  quietly,  like  a 
candle  which  is  burned  out,  and  until  he  lost  his 
powers  and  his  consciousness  he  kept  stroking 
his  daughter's  hair  and  repeating  something 
unintelligible  but  not  sorrowful,  and  smiling  all 
the  while. 

My  father  went  to  the  funeral,  to  the  church 
and  the  grave,  and  prayed  very  fervently;  even 
Trankvillitatin  sang  in  the  choir.  At  the  grave 
Raisa  suddenly  burst  out  sobbing  and  fell  prone 
upon  the  earth ;  but  she  speedily  recovered  herself. 
Her  little  sister,  the  deaf-and-dumb  girl,  scruti- 
nised every  one  with  her  large,  bright,  and  some- 
what frightened  eyes;  from  time  to  time  she 
nestled  up  to  Raisa,  but  there  was  no  fright  per- 
ceptible in  her.   On  the  day  after  the  funeral,  uncle 

370 


THE  WATCH 

Egor,  who,  as  was  in  every  way  apparent,  had  not 
returned  from  Siberia  with  empty  hands  (he  had 
furnished  the  money  for  the  funeral,  and  had  lav- 
ishly rewarded  David's  rescuer) ,  but  who  had 
told  nothing  about  his  manner  of  life  there  and 
had  communicated  none  of  his  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture,— uncle  Egor  suddenly  announced  to  my 
father  that  he  did  not  intend  to  remain  in  Ryazan, 
but  was  going  to  Moscow  together  with  his  son. 
My  father,  for  the  sake  of  propriety,  expressed 
his  regret,  and  even  made  an  attempt— a  very  fee- 
ble one,  it  is  true — to  alter  my  uncle's  decision; 
but  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  he  was  greatly  de- 
lighted with  it,  I  am  sure. 

The  presence  of  a  brother  with  whom  he  had 
too  little  in  common,  who  did  not  even  deign 
to  reproach  him,  who  did  not  even  despise  him, 
but  simply  loathed  him,  oppressed  him  .... 
and  the  parting  with  David  did  not  constitute 
any  particular  grief  for  him.  This  separation 
annihilated  me,  of  course;  I  felt  completely  or- 
phaned at  first,  and  lost  all  hold  on  life  and  all 
desire  to  live. 

So  my  uncle  went  away,  taking  with  him  not 
only  David,  but,  to  the  great  amazement  and  even 
indignation  of  our  whole  street,  Raisa  and  her 
little  sister  also On  learning  of  this  per- 
formance of  his,  my  aunt  immediately  called  him 
a  Turk,  and  continued  to  call  him  so  to  the  end 
of  her  life. 

871 


THE  WATCH 

I  was  left  alone,  quite  alone.  .  .  .  But  it  does 
not  matter  about  me.  .  .  . 


XXV 

And  this  is  the  end  of  my  story  about  the  watch. 
What  else  can  I  tell  you?  Five  years  later,  David 
married  his  Black-lip,  and  in  1812,  with  the  rank 
of  ensign  in  the  artillery,  died  a  death  of  glory  on 
the  day  of  the  battle  at  Borodino,  while  defending 
the  Shevardin  redoubt. 

Many  things  have  happened  since  then,  and  I 
have  had  many  watches ;  I  have  even  attained  to 
the  magnificence  of  procuring  for  myself  a  genu- 
ine Breget  with  a  second-hand,  the  days  of  the 
month,  and  a  repeating  attachment.  .  .  .  But  in 
a  secret  drawer  of  my  writing-table  is  preserved 
an  old  silver  watch  with  a  rose  on  its  face;  I 
bought  it  of  a  Jew  pedlar,  being  struck  with  its 
resemblance  to  the  watch  which  had  once  been 
presented  to  me  by  my  godfather. — From  time 
to  time,  when  I  am  alone  and  am  not  expecting 
any  one,  I  take  it  out  of  its  box,  and  as  I  gaze  at 
it,  I  recall  the  days  of  my  youth  and  the  com- 
rade of  those  days,  which  have  vanished  beyond 
recall.  .  .  . 


372 


SMOKE 

(1867) 


SMOKE 


AT  four  o'clock,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  tenth 
llL  of  August,  in  the  year  1862,  a  large  number 
of  persons  were  assembled  in  front  of  the  famous 
'  Conversation  "  (Hall)  in  Baden-Baden.  The 
weather  continued  to  be  delightful;  everything 
round  about— the  verdant  trees,  the  bright-hued 
houses  of  the  comfortable  town,  the  undulating 
hills— everything  lay  outspread  in  festive  guise, 
with  lavish  hand,  beneath  the  rays  of  the  be- 
nignant sun ;  everything  was  smiling  in  a  passive, 
confiding  and  engaging  manner,  and  the  same 
sort  of  vague  yet  amiable  smile  strayed  over  the 
faces  of  the  people,  young  and  old,  homely  and 
handsome.  Even  the  dyed  and  bleached  faces  of 
the  Parisian  courtesans  did  not  destroy  the  gen- 
eral impression  of  manifest  satisfaction  and  ex- 
ultation, but  the  motley-hued  ribbons  and  fea- 
thers, the  glints  of  gold  and  steel  on  bonnets  and 
veils,  involuntarily  suggested  to  the  vision  the 
reanimated  gleam  and  light  play  of  springtide 
flowers  and  rainbow-hued  wings:  but  the  dry, 
guttural  rattle  of  French  gabble  could  not  take 

3 


SMOKE 

the  place  of  the  twittering  of  the  birds,  or  bear 
comparison  therewith. 

However,  everything  was  going  on  as  usual. 
The  orchestra  in  the  pavilion  played  now  a  pot- 
pourri from  "  La  Traviata,"  again  a  waltz  by 
Strauss,  or  Dites-lui,  or  a  Russian  romance  ar- 
ranged for  instruments  by  the  obliging  band- 
master ;  around  the  green  tables  in  the  gambling- 
halls  thronged  the  same  familiar  figures,  with  the 
same  dull  and  greedy  expression  as  ever,  an  ex- 
pression neither  exactly  perplexed  nor  yet  irri- 
tated, but  essentially  rapacious,  which  the  gam- 
bling fever  imparts  to  all,  even  to  the  most  aristo- 
cratic features ;  the  usual  obese  landed  proprietor 
from  Tamboff,  in  extremely  dandified  attire, 
with  the  usual  incomprehensible,  convulsive  haste, 
and  eyes  protruding,  leaning  his  breast  on  the 
table,  and  paying  no  heed  to  the  grins  of  the  crou- 
piers, at  the  moment  of  uttering  the  exclamation, 
"  Rien  neva  plus! "  was  scattering  circles  of  louis 
d'or,  with  perspiring  hand,  over  all  the  squares  of 
the  roulette-board,  and  thereby  depriving  himself 
of  all  possibility  of  winning  anything,  even  in  the 
case  of  luck;  which  did  not  in  the  least  prevent 
him,  in  the  course  of  that  same  evening,  from 
humouring  with  sympathetic  wrath  Prince  Koko, 
one  of  the  well-known  leaders  of  the  opposition 
among  the  gentry,  the  Prince  Koko  who,  in  Paris, 
in  the  drawing-room  of  Princess  Mathilde,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Emperor,  remarked  so  truly: 

4 


SMOKE 

"  Madame,  le  principe  de  la  propriete  est  pro  fan- 
dement  ebranle  en  Russie."  According  to  their 
wont,  our  amiable  fellow-countrymen  and  women 
assembled  at  the  '  Russian  Tree  " — a  V  Arbre 
Russe;— they  strolled  up  ostentatiously,  care- 
lessly, fashionably,  greeted  each  other  majes- 
tically, with  elegant  ease,  as  is  befitting  beings  who 
stand  at  the  apex  of  contemporary  culture,  but, 
having  met  and  seated  themselves,  they  positively 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  one  another,  and  con- 
tented themselves  with  the  exchange  of  empty 
phrases,  or  with  the  threadbare,  extremely  impu- 
dent and  extremely  insipid  sallies  of  a  French  ex- 
literary  man,  who  had  long  since  seen  his  best 
days,  a  jester  and  chatter-box,  with  Jewish  slip- 
pers on  his  wretched  little  feet,  and  with  a  con- 
temptible little  beard  on  his  miserable  little  phiz. 
He  babbled  to  them,  a  ces  princes  Russes,  all  sorts 
of  stale  nonsense  out  of  ancient  almanacs  of  the 
Charivari  and  Tintamarre,  .  .  while  they — ces 
princes  Russes — burst  into  grateful  laughter,  as 
though  involuntarily  acknowledging  both  the 
overwhelming  superiority  of  foreign  wit  and 
their  own  definitive  incapacity  to  devise  anything 
amusing.  And  yet  there  was  present  almost  all 
the  "  fine  fleur  "  of  our  society,  "  all  the  quality 
and  the  models  of  fashion."  There  was  Count 
X.,  our  incomparable  dilettante,  a  profound  mu- 
sical nature,  who  "  recites  "  romances  so  divinely, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  cannot  distinguish  one 

5 


SMOKE 

note  from  another  without  poking  his  forefinger 
at  random  over  the  keys,  and  sings  somewhat  like 
an  indifferently  poor  gipsy,  somewhat  like  a  Pa- 
risian hair-dresser ;  there  was  also  our  enchanting 
Baron  Z.,  that  jack  of  all  trades:  literary  man, 
administrator,  orator  and  sharper;  there  was 
also  Prince  Y.,  the  friend  of  religion  and 
of  the  people,  who  had  amassed  a  huge  fortune 
in  his  time,  the  blessed  epoch  of  monopolies,  by 
the  sale  of  inferior  liquor  adulterated  with  stra- 
monium; and  brilliant  General  O.  O.,  who  has 
subdued  something  or  other,  is  the  pacificator  of 
somebody  or  other,  but,  nevertheless,  does  not 
know  what  to  do  with  himself,  or  how  to  make 
himself  agreeable;  and  R.  R.,  an  amusing  fat 
man,  who  regards  himself  as  a  very  ailing  and 
very  clever  fellow,  but  is  as  healthy  as  an  ox  and 
as  stupid  as  a  stump.  This  R.  R.  is  almost  the 
only  person  who  in  our  day  still  preserves  the 
tradition  of  the  social  lions  of  the  '40's  of  the 
epoch  of  "  The  Hero  of  Our  Times  "  ?  and  of 
Countess  Vorotynsky.  He  has  retained  also  the 
gait  with  its  swing  from  the  heels,  and  "  le  culte 
de  la  pose'  (which  cannot  even  be  expressed  in 
Russian),  and  the  unnatural  deliberation  of 
movement,  and  the  sleepy  majesty  of  expression 
on  the  impassive,  as  it  were  offended,  counte- 
nance, and  the  habit  of  interrupting  other  peo- 
ple's remarks  with  a  yawn,  carefully  inspecting 

lBy  M.  Y.  L£rmontoff.— Translator. 

6 


SMOKE 

his  own  fingers  and  nails  the  while,  of  laughing 
straight  in  people's  faces,  of  suddenly  tilting  the 
hat  from  the  nape  of  the  neck  over  the  brows,  and 
so  forth,  and  so  forth.  There  were  also  even  gov- 
ernmental officials,  diplomats,  big-wigs  with  Eu- 
ropean reputations,  men  of  good  counsel  and 
sense,  who  imagine  that  the  golden  bull  was  issued 
by  the  Pope,  and  that  the  English  "  poor-tax  "  is 
an  impost  on  the  poor;  there  were,  in  conclusion, 
fiery  but  bashful  admirers  of  the  frail  fair  ones, 
young  society  dandies  with  their  hair  supremely 
well  parted  behind,  with  superb  pendent  side- 
whiskers,  attired  in  real  London  costumes,  young 
dandies  whom,  apparently,  nothing  could  prevent 
from  becoming  the  same  sort  of  vulgar  triflers  as 
the  renowned  French  chatterer;  but  no!  nothing 
native-born  is  in  vogue  with  us, — and  Countess 
Sh.,  the  well-known  law-giver  of  fashion, 
and  of  the  "  grand  genre,"  nicknamed  by  mali- 
cious tongues  "  The  Tzaritza  of  the  Wasps  "  and 
The  Medusa  in  a  Mob-cap,"  preferred,  in  the 
absence  of  the  prattler,  to  turn  to  the  Italians, 
Moldavians,  American  "  spiritists,"  dashing  sec- 
retaries of  foreign  legations,  petty  Germans  with 
effeminate  but  already  cautious  physiognomies, 
and  so  forth,  who  were  hovering  about  there  also. 
In  imitation  of  the  Countess's  example,  Princess 
Babette  also,  the  one  in  whose  arms  Chopin  died 
(there  are  about  a  thousand  ladies  in  Europe  in 
whose  arms  he  yielded  up  his  spirit) ,  and  Princess 

7 


SMOKE 

Annette,  who  would  have  possessed  every  charm 
were  it  not  that  from  time  to  time  suddenly,  like 
the  odour  of  cabbage  in  the  midst  of  the  finest 
amber,  the  common  country  washerwoman  had 
not  cropped  out ;  and  Princess  Pachette,  to  whom 
the  following  catastrophe  happened :  her  husband 
lighted  upon  a  conspicuous  position  and  all  of  a 
sudden,  Dieu  salt  pourquoi,  he  thrashed  the  mayor 
of  the  town  and  stole  twenty  thousand  rubles  of 
the  government  money ;  and  that  mirthful  maiden 
— Princess  Zizi,  and  tearful  Princess  Zozo;  all  of 
them  deserted  their  fellow-country  people  and 
treated  them  ungraciously.  .  .  But  let  us  also 
desert  them,  these  charming  ladies,  and  quit  the 
famous  tree  around  which  they  are  seated  in  such 
costly  but  rather  tasteless  toilettes,  and  may  the 
Lord  send  them  relief  from  the  ennui  which  is 
tormenting  them ! 


8 


II 

Several  paces  removed  from  the  "  Russian 
Tree,"  at  a  small  table  in  front  of  Weber's  cafe, 
sat  a  man  about  thirty  years  of  age,  of  medium 
stature,  lean  and  swarthy,  with  a  manly  and 
agreeable  face.  Bending  forward  and  leaning  on 
his  cane  with  both  hands,  he  sat  quietly  and  sim- 
ply, like  a  man  to  whom  the  idea  would  never  oc- 
cur that  any  one  was  noticing  him  or  taking  an 
interest  in  him.  His  large,  expressive  eyes,  brown 
with  a  tawny  tinge,  gazed  slowly  about  him,  now 
blinking  a  little  with  the  sunlight,  again  suddenly 
and  intently  following  some  eccentric  figure  that 
passed  by,  in  which  last  case  a  swift,  childlike 
smile  barely  moved  his  slight  moustache,  his  lips 
and  strong  physiognomy.  He  was  clad  in  a  loose 
frock-coat  of  German  cut,  and  his  soft  grey  hat 
half  concealed  his  lofty  brow.  At  first  sight  he 
produced  the  impression  of  an  honourable,  active 
and  rather  self-confident  young  fellow,  of  which 
sort  there  are  not  a  few  in  the  world.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  resting  from  prolonged  labours,  and 
with  all  the  more  singleness  of  mind  was  divert- 
ing himself  with  the  picture  which  unfolded  itself 
before  him,  because  his  thoughts  were  far  away, 
and  because,  moreover,  those  thoughts  were  re- 

9 


SMOKE 

volving  in  a  world  which  did  not  in  the  least  re- 
semble that  which  surrounded  him  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  was  a  Russian ;  his  name  was  Grigory 
Mikhailovitch  Litvinoff. 

We  must  make  his  acquaintance,  and  therefore 
it  becomes  necessary  to  narrate,  in  a  few  words, 
his  far  from  gay  or  complicated  past. 

The  son  of  a  retired  plodding  official  from  the 
merchant  class,  he  had  not  been  educated  in  town, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  but  in  the  country. 
His  mother  was  a  noble  by  birth,  a  girl  from  one 
of  the  Government  Institutes,  a  very  amiable 
and  very  enthusiastic  being,  yet  not  lacking 
in  strength  of  character.  Being  twelve  years 
younger  than  her  husband,  she  remodelled  his 
education  as  far  as  she  was  able,  dragged  him  out 
of  the  official  into  the  noble  rut,  tamed  and  sof- 
tened his  harsh,  vigorous  nature.  Thanks  to  her, 
he  had  come  to  dress  neatly  and  behave  with 
propriety,  and  had  left  off  swearing;  he  had 
come  to  respect  learned  men  and  learning, — 
although,  of  course,  he  never  took  a  book 
in  his  hand, — and  endeavoured  in  every  way  never 
to  derogate  from  his  dignity:  he  even  began  to 
walk  more  lightly,  and  he  spoke  in  a  subdued 
voice,  chiefly  on  lofty  subjects,  which  cost  him  no 
little  trouble.  "  Ekh!  I  'd  like  to  take  and  spank 
you!  "  he  sometimes  said  to  himself,  but  aloud  he 
remarked:  "  Yes,  yes  ...  of  course;  that  is  the 
question."    Litvinoff 's  mother  had  put  her  house- 

10 


SMOKE 

hold  also  on  a  European  footing ;  she  said  "  you  " 
to  the  servants,  and  permitted  no  one  to  overeat 
at  dinner  to  the  point  of  snoring.  So  far  as  the 
estate  which  belonged  to  her  was  concerned, 
neither  she  nor  her  husband  had  been  able  to  make 
anything  out  of  it:  it  had  long  been  neglected, 
but  was  extensive  with  various  meadows,  forests 
and  a  lake,  beside  which,  in  times  gone  by,  had 
stood  a  large  factory  established  by  the  zealous 
but  unsystematic  owner,  which  had  thriven  in  the 
hands  of  a  knavish  merchant,  and  had  finally 
come  to  ruin  under  the  direction  of  an  honest 
manager,  a  German.  Madame  Litvinoff  was  sat- 
isfied with  not  having  impaired  her  property  and 
with  having  contracted  no  debts.  Unfortunately, 
she  could  not  boast  of  good  health,  and  died  of 
consumption  during  the  very  year  that  her  son 
entered  the  Moscow  University.  He  did  not  fin- 
ish his  course,  owing  to  circumstances  (the  reader 
will  learn  later  on  what  they  were) ,  and  lounged 
about  in  the  country,  where  he  enjoyed  life  for  a 
considerable  time  without  occupation,  or  connec- 
tions, almost  without  acquaintances.  Thanks  to 
the  nobles  of  his  county,  who  were  ill-disposed  to- 
ward him,  and  imbued  not  so  much  with  the 
Western  theory  of  the  evils  of  ' '  absenteeism  "  as 
with  the  innate  conviction  that  "  charity  begins  at 
home,"  he  was  got  into  the  militia  in  1855,  and 
came  near  dying  of  typhus  in  the  Crimea,  where, 
without  having  beheld  a  single  "  ally,"  he  was 

11 


SMOKE 

quartered  for  six  months  in  an  earth-hut  on  the 
banks  of  the  Putrid  Sea;  then  he  served  in  the 
elections,  as  a  matter  of  course,  not  without  un- 
pleasantness, and  finding  himself  at  ease  in  the 
country  he  became  passionately  devoted  to  farm- 
ing. He  comprehended  that  his  mother's  prop- 
erty, badly  and  indolently  managed  by  his  now 
infirm  father,  did  not  yield  a  tenth  part  of  the 
income  which  it  was  capable  of  yielding,  and  that 
in  experienced  and  expert  hands  it  might  be  con- 
verted into  a  regular  gold  mine ;  but  he  also  com- 
prehended that  precisely  what  he  lacked  was  this 
experience  and  skill — and  he  betook  himself 
abroad  to  study  agronomy  and  technology — to 
study  them  from  the  very  foundation.  He  had 
spent  more  than  four  years  in  Mecklenburg, 
Silesia,  Karlsruhe,  he  had  travelled  in  Belgium 
and  in  England,  he  had  laboured  conscientiously, 
he  had  acquired  information:  it  had  not  been 
easily  acquired;  but  he  had  endured  the  ordeal 
to  the  end,  and  now,  confident  of  himself,  of  his 
future,  of  the  utility  he  could  bring  to  his  fellow- 
countrymen,  even  to  the  whole  country,  he  was 
preparing  to  return  to  his  native  land,  whither  his 
father,  utterly  disconcerted  by  the  emancipa- 
tion, by  the  division  of  lands,  by  the  redemption 
contracts,— by  the  new  order  of  things,  in  short, -^ 
was  summoning  him  with  despairing  adjurations 
and  entreaties  in  every  letter.  .  .  But  why  was 
he  in  Baden? 

12 


J 


SMOKE 

He  was  in  Baden  because  from  daj^  to  day  he 
was  expecting  the  arrival  there  of  his  second 
cousin,  his  affianced  bride,— Tatyana  Petrovna 
Shestoff.  He  had  known  her  almost  from  child- 
hood, and  had  passed  the  spring  and  summer  with 
her  in  Dresden,  where  she  had  settled  with  her 
aunt.  He  sincerely  loved,  he  profoundly  re- 
spected his  young  relative,  and  having  completed 
his  obscure  preparatory  work,  and  being  on  the 
point  of  entering  upon  a  new  career,  of  beginning 
active,  not  state  service,  he  had  proposed  to  her, 
as  to  a  beloved  woman,  as  to  a  comrade  and  friend, 
that  she  should  unite  her  life  to  his  life — for  joy 
and  for  sorrow,  for  toil  and  for  repose,  "  for  bet- 
ter, for  worse,"  as  the  English  say.  She  had  con- 
sented, and  he  had  betaken  himself  to  Karlsruhe, 
where  he  had  left  his  books,  his  things  and  his 
papers.  .  .  But  why  was  he  in  Baden,  you  ask 
again? 

He  was  in  Baden  because  Tatyana's  aunt,  who 
had  reared  her,  Kapitolina  Markovna  Shestoff, 
an  elderly  spinster  of  fifty-five  years,  a  most  kind- 
hearted  and  honourable  eccentric,  a  free  soul,  all 
burning  with  the  fire  of  self-sacrifice  and  self- 
renunciation,  an  esprit  fort  (she  read  Strauss, — 
on  the  sly  from  her  niece,  it  is  true) ,  and  demo- 
crat, a  sworn  foe  of  grand  society  and  the  aris- 
tocracy, could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  take 
just  one  little  peep  at  that  same  grand  society  in 
such  a  fashionable  place  as  Baden.  .  .  Kapito- 

J3 


SMOKE 

lina  Markovna  dispensed  with  crinoline  and 
clipped  her  white  hair  in  a  shock,  but  luxury  and 
brilliancy  secretly  agitated  her,  and  she  found  it 
joyful  and  sweet  to  rail  against  them  and  despise 
them.  .  .  And  how  could  one  refuse  to  divert  the 
kindly  old  lady? 

But  Litvinoff  was  so  calm  and  simple,  he  gazed 
about  him  so  confidently,  because  his  life  lay  be- 
fore him  with  precise  clearness,  because  his  fate 
had  been  settled,  and  because  he  was  proud  of  that 
fate,  and  was  rejoicing  in  it,  as  the  work  of  his 
own  hands. 


14 


Ill 

"  Ba!  ba!  ba!  here  he  is!  "  a  squeaking  voice  sud- 
denly rang  out  straight  in  his  ear,  and  a  flabby 
hand  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

He  raised  his  head, — and  beheld  one  of  his  few 
Moscow  acquaintances,  a  certain  Bambaeff,  a  nice 
man,  one  of  the  triflers,  no  longer  young,  with 
cheeks  and  nose  as  soft  as  though  they  had  been 
boiled,  greasy,  dishevelled  hair,  and  a  flabby, 
obese  body.  Eternally  penniless  and  eternally  in 
raptures  over  something  or  other,  Rostislaff  Bam- 
baeff roamed  to  and  fro,  with  a  hurrah  but  with- 
out occupation,  over  the  face  of  our  long-suffer- 
ing mother  earth. 

'  The  very  person  I  wanted  to  see!  " — he  re- 
peated, opening  wide  his  fat-obscured  little  eyes, 
and  thrusting  out  his  thick  little  lips,  above  which 
a  dyed  moustache  stuck  out  in  a  strange  and  in- 
appropriate manner. — "Hurrah  for  Baden! 
Every  one  crawls  hither  like  black  beetles.  How 
didst  thou  get  here?  " 

Bambaeff  addressed  positively  every  one  on 
earth  as  "  thou." 

"  I  arrived  three  days  ago," 

"Whence?" 

15 


SMOKE 

"  But  why  dost  thou  wish  to  know?  " 

"  Why,  indeed!  But  wait,  wait,  perhaps  thou 
dost  not  know  who  else  has  arrived  here?  Guba- 
ryoff!  That 's  who  is  here !  He  came  from  Hei- 
delberg yesterday.  Of  course  thou  knowest 
him?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  him." 
Only  that?  Good  gracious!  Instantly,  this 
very  minute,  I  shall  drag  thee  to  him.  Not  know 
such  a  man !  And,  by  the  way,  here  's  Voroshi- 
loff.  .  .  .  Stay,  perhaps  thou  dost  not  know  him 
either?  I  have  the  honour  to  present  you  to  each 
other.  Both  of  you  are  learned  men.  He  's  even 
a  very  phoenix.    Kiss  each  other!  " 

And  as  he  uttered  these  words,  BambaefF 
turned  to  a  handsome  young  man  with  a  rosy  but 
already  serious  face,  who  was  standing  beside  him. 
Litvinoff  rose,  and  of  course  did  not  kiss  him, 
but  exchanged  a  brief  salute  with  the  "  phoenix," 
who,  judging  by  the  stiffness  of  his  demeanour, 
was  not  any  too  well  pleased  by  this  unexpected 
introduction. 

"  I  said  a  phoenix,  and  I  will  not  withdraw  the 
word,"  continued  Bambaeff: — "go  to  Peters- 
burg, to  the  *  *  *  Cadet  Corps,  and  look  at  the 
golden  board  —  roll  of  honour — whose  name 
stands  first  there?  Voroshiloff  Semyon  Yakov- 
levitch!  But  Gubaryoff,  GubaryofF,  my  dear 
fellows !  That 's  the  man  to  whom  we  must  run, 
run!    I  positively  worship  that  man!    And  I  'm 

16 


SMOKE 

not  the  only  one;  all,  without  distinction,  adore 
him.  What  a  work  he  is  now  writing,  oh  .  .  . 
oh  ...  oh!  " 

"  What  is  the  work  about?  "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  About  everything,  my  dear  fellow,  in  the 
style  of  Buckle,  you  know  .  .  only  more  pro- 
found—more profound.  .  .  In  it  everything  will 
be  settled  and  made  clear." 

H  And  hast  thou  read  that  work  thyself? ' 

"  Xo,  I  have  not ;  and  it  is  even  a  secret  which 
must  not  be  divulged ;  but  from  GubaryofF  every- 
thing is  to  be  expected,  everything!  Yes!"— 
Bambaeff  sighed  and  folded  his  hands.—"  What 
if  two  or  three  more  such  heads  were  bred  among 
us  in  Russia,  what  would  happen,  O  Lord  my 
God !  I  '11  tell  thee  one  thing,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch :  whatever  thou  mayest  have  been  occupying 
thyself  with  of  late, — and  I  do  not  know  what  thy 
interests  in  general  are,— whatever  may  be  thy 
convictions,— and  I  know  nothing  about  them 
either,— thou  wilt  find  something  to  learn  from 
him,  from  Gubaryoff.  Unfortunately,  he  will 
not  be  here  long.  We  must  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity,  we  must  go.    To  him,  to  him! ' 

A  passing  dandy  with  small  red  curls  and  a 
sky-blue  ribbon  on  his  low-crowned  hat  turned 
round  and  stared  at  Bambaeff  through  his  mon- 
ocle with  a  sarcastic  smile.    Litvinoff  was  vexed. 

"Why   dost  thou   shout?"   he   ejaculated: — 

17 


SMOKE 

"  thou  yellest  as  though  after  a  hound!    I  have 
not  yet  dined." 

"  What  of  that!  We  can  dine  immediately  at 
Weber's  .  .  all  three.  .  Capital!  Hast  thou  the 
money  to  pay  for  me?  "  he  added  in  an  undertone. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  only  really  I  do  not  know  ..." 
'  Stop,  please ;  thou  wilt  thank  me,  and  he  will 
be  glad.  Akh,  my  God!  "  Bambaeff  broke  off. — 
"  They  're  playing  the  finale  from  '  Ernani.' 
How  charming!  A  som  .  .  .  mo  Carlo.  .  .  But 
what  a  fellow  I  am !  I  begin  to  cry  at  once.  Well, 
Semyon  Yakovlevitch !  Voroshiloff!  Shall  we 
go? 

Voroshiloff,  who  was  still  standing  in  a  stiff 
and  stately  attitude,  maintaining  his  original 
somewhat  haughty  dignity  of  mien,  dropped  his 
eyes  significantly,  frowned,  and  bellowed  some- 
thing through  his  teeth  .  .  .  but  did  not  refuse; 
and  Litvinoff  said  to  himself:  "Never  mind!  let 's 
do  it,  seeing  there  's  plenty  of  time."  Bambaeff 
slipped  his  arm  into  his,  but  before  setting  out 
for  the  cafe  he  beckoned  to  Isabella,  the  famous 
flower-girl  of  the  Jockey  Club:  it  had  occurred 
to  him  to  buy  a  bouquet  of  her.  But  the  aristo- 
cratic flower-girl  did  not  stir ;  and  why  should  she 
go  to  a  gentleman  without  gloves,  in  a  stained  vel- 
veteen jacket,  a  variegated  necktie,  and  patched 
boots,  whom  she  had  never  beheld  in  Paris?  Then 
Voroshiloff  beckoned  to  her  in  his  turn.  She 
went  to  him,  and  he,  selecting  from  her  basket  a 

18 


SMOKE 

tiny  bunch  of  violets,  tossed  her  a  gulden.  He 
had  thought  to  astonish  her  with  his  lavishness; 
but  she  never  moved  an  eyelash,  and  when  he 
turned  away  from  her  she  curled  her  closely-com- 
pressed lips  in  scorn.  Voroshiloff  was  very  fop- 
pishly, even  elegantly,  clad,  but  the  experienced 
eye  of  the  Parisienne  had  instantly  noted  in  his 
toilette,  in  his  very  gait,  which  bore  traces  of  early 
military  drilling,  the  absence  of  genuine,  thor- 
oughbred "  chic." 

When  our  acquaintances  had  seated  themselves 
in  Weber's  principal  room  and  had  ordered  din- 
ner, they  entered  into  conversation.  BambaefF 
talked  loudly  and  fervently  about  the  lofty  sig- 
nificance of  Gubaryoff,  but  soon  fell  silent,  and 
noisily  sighing  and  chewing,  clinked  glass  to 
glass.  Voroshiloff  ate  and  drank  little,  and  hav- 
ing questioned  Litvinoff  as  to  the  nature  of  his 
occupation,  began  to  express  his  own  opinions  .  .  . 
not  so  much  with  regard  to  that  occupation  as  in 
general  about  various  "  questions."  .  .  He  sud- 
denly grew  animated  and  started  off  at  full  gal- 
lop, like  a  good  horse,  adroitly  and  sharply  em- 
phasising every  syllable,  every  letter,  like  a 
fine  dashing  young  cadet  at  his  final  ex- 
amination, and  waving  his  arms  violently,  but 
not  in  accord.  He  became  momentarily  more  vol- 
uble, more  energetic,  as  no  one  interrupted  him: 
it  was  exactly  as  though  he  were  reading  a  disser- 
tation or  a  lecture.     The  names  of  the  newest 

19 


SMOKE 

savants,  with  the  year  of  each  one's  birth  or  death 
added,  the  title  of  pamphlets  which  had  just  been 
published,  in  general  names,  names,  names, — 
fell  thick  and  fast  from  his  tongue,  affording  him 
the  highest  gratification,  which  was  reflected  in 
his  flashing  eyes.  VoroshilofT  evidently  despised 
everything  old,  prized  only  the  cream  of  culture, 
the  latest,  most  advanced  points  of  science;  to 
mention,  even  inopportunely,  the  book  of  some 
Doctor  Sauerbrengel  about  the  prisons  in  Penn- 
sylvania, or  an  article  which  had  appeared  the 
previous  day  in  The  Asiatic  Journal  about  the 
Vedas  and  the  Puranas  (he  said  it  in  just  that 
way:  "  Journal,"  although,  of  course,  he  did  not 
know  English)  — was  for  him  genuine  delight, 
felicity.  Litvinoff  listened  to  him,  listened  and 
could  not  in  the  least  understand  what  his  own 
speciality  was.  Now  he  turned  the  conversation 
upon  the  role  of  the  Celtic  race  in  history;  again 
it  bore  him  off  to  the  ancient  world,  and  he  argued 
about  the  marbles  of  iEgina,  harped  insistently 
on  the  sculptor  Onatas,  who  lived  before  Phidias, 
but  who,  in  his  hands,  was  transformed  into  Jona- 
than, and  thereby,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  im- 
parted to  his  whole  argument  a  biblical  or  Ameri- 
can colouring;  then  he  suddenly  jumped  to  polit- 
ical economy,  and  called  Bastia  a  fool  and  a 
blockhead,  "  as  much  so  as  Adam  Smith  and  all 
the  physiocrats  '  .  .  .  "Physiocrats!  "  Bambaeff 
whispered    after    him  .  .  .  "Aristocrats?  .  .  ." 

20 


SMOKE 

Among  other  things,  Voroshiloff  had  evoked  an 
expression  of  amazement  on  the  countenance  of 
that  same  Bambaeff  by  a  remark  carelessly  and 
lightly  dropped  concerning  Macaulay,  as  an  ob- 
solete author  who  had  been  left  in  the  lurch  bv 
science ;  as  for  Gneist  and  Riehl,  he  declared  that 
it  was  merely  necessary  to  name  them,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Bambaeff  shrugged  his 
shoulders  also.  "  And  all  this  at  one  burst,  with- 
out any  motive  whatever,  in  the  presence  of  stran- 
gers in  a  cafe,"  meditated  Litvmoff,  as  he  gazed 
at  the  blond  hair,  the  light  eyes,  the  white  teeth 
of  his  new  acquaintance  (he  was  particularly  dis- 
turbed by  those  huge,  sugar-like  teeth,  and  also 
by  those  arms,  with  their  inappropriate  flour- 
ishes) ;  "  and  he  does  not  smile  even  once;  and  yet 
he  must  be  a  kindly  young  fellow  and  extremely 
inexperienced.  .  ."  Voroshiloff  quieted  down  at 
last ;  his  voice,  youthfully  resonant  and  hoarse  as 
that  of  a  young  cock,  broke  a  little  .  .  .  and 
Bambaeff  in  the  nick  of  time  began  to  declaim 
verses,  and  again  almost  fell  to  weeping,  which 
produced  the  effect  of  a  row  at  one  neigh- 
bouring table,  around  which  an  English  family 
was  seated,  and  a  tittering  at  another:  two  cour- 
tesans were  dining  at  this  second  table  with  a  very 
aged  infant  in  a  lilac  wig.  The  waiter  brought 
the  bill;  the  friends  paid  it. 

'  Well,"  exclaimed  Bambaeff,  rising  heavily 
from  his  chair:—"  now  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 

21 


SMOKE 

march!  But  yonder  it  is,  our  Russia,"  he  added, 
halting  in  the  doorway,  and  almost  with  rapture 
pointing  with  his  soft,  red  hand  at  Voroshiloff 
and  Litvinoff.  .  .  "  What  do  you  think  of  it? ' 

"  Yes,  Russia,"  thought  Litvinoff;  but  Voro- 
shiloff, who  had  already  again  succeeded  in  im- 
parting to  his  face  a  concentrated  expression, 
smiled  condescendingly,  and  lightly  clicked  his 
heels  together. 

Five  minutes  later  all  three  of  them  were 
mounting  the  stairs  of  the  hotel  where  Stepan 
Nikolaevitch  GubaryofF  was  stopping.  .  .  A  tall, 
stately  lady,  in  a  bonnet  with  a  short  black  veil, 
was  descending  the  same  staircase,  and  on  catch- 
ing sight  of  Litvinoff  she  suddenly  turned  to  him 
and  halted,  as  though  struck  with  amazement. 
Her  face  flushed  for  a  moment  and  then  as  swiftly 
paled  beneath  the  close  meshes  of  the  lace;  but 
Litvinoff  did  not  notice  her,  and  the  lady  ran 
more  briskly  than  before  down  the  broad  steps. 


22, 


IV 

"  Grigory  Litvinoff  is  a  jolly  good  fellow,  a 
Russian  soul;  I  recommend  him," exclaimed  Bam- 
baeff,  conducting  Litvinoff  up  to  a  man  of  short 
stature  and  the  appearance  of  the  landed  gentry 
class,  with  an  unbuttoned  collar,  in  a  short-tailed 
coat,  grey  morning  trousers,  and  slippers,  who 
was  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  bright,  capitally- 
furnished  room;—"  and  this,"  he  added,  turning 
to  Litvinoff, — "  this  is  he,  the  very  man;  you  un- 
derstand?   Well,  in  one  word,  Gubaryoff." 

Litvinoff  fixed  his  eyes  with  curiosity  on  "  the 
very  man."  At  first  he  perceived  nothing  unusual 
about  him.  He  beheld  before  him  a  gentleman 
of  respectable  and  rather  stupid  appearance,  with 
a  large  forehead,  large  eyes,  a  large  beard, 
a  thick  neck,  and  an  oblique  glance,  which  was 
directed  downward.  This  gentleman  simpered, 
muttered:  "  Mmm  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  that  's  good  .  .  . 
I  'm  delighted  .  .  .  ,"  raised  his  hand  to  his  own 
face,  and  immediately  turning  his  back  on  Lit- 
vinoff, strode  several  paces  across  the  carpet,  wab- 
bling slowly  and  strangely,  as  though  he  were 
walking  stealthily.  Gubaryoff  had  a  habit  of 
constantly  walking  to  and  fro,  incessantly  pluck- 

23 


SMOKE 

ing  at  and  combing  his  beard  with  the  tips  of  his 
long,  firm  nails.  In  addition  to  Gubaryoff  there 
was  in  the  room  a  lady  in  a  shabby  silk  gown, 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  a  remarkably  mobile 
face  as  yellow  as  a  lemon,  black  down  on  her  up- 
per lip,  and  vivacious  little  eyes  which  seemed  on 
the  point  of  popping  out;  a  thick-set  man  was 
also  sitting  there  doubled  up  in  a  corner. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  respected  Matrona  Semyo- 
novna,"  began  Gubaryoff,  addressing  the  lady, 
and  evidently  not  considering  it  necessary  to  in- 
troduce her  to  LitvinofF; — "  dear  me,  what  was  it 
that  you  had  begun  to  tell  us?  " 

The  lady  (her  name  was  Matrona  Semyonovna 
SukhantchikofF ;  she  was  a  widow,  childless,  not 
rich,  and  this  was  the  second  year  that  she  had 
spent  in  wandering  from  land  to  land)  immedi- 
ately began  to  talk  with  a  peculiar,  embittered 
enthusiasm : 

"  Well,  and  so  he  presents  himself  to  the 
Prince,  and  says  to  him : '  Your  Illustrious  High- 
ness,' says  he,  — '  with  your  dignity  and  your  sta- 
tion, what  does  it  cost  you  to  alleviate  my  lot? 
You,'  says  he,  '  cannot  fail  to  respect  the  purity 
of  my  convictions!  And  is  it  possible,'  says  he, 
'  in  our  day  to  persecute  a  man  because  of  his  con- 
victions? '  And  what  do  you  think  the  Prince, — 
that  cultured,  highly-placed  dignitary — did? ' 

"Well,  what  did  he  do?"  ejaculated  Guba- 
ryoff, thoughtfully  lighting  a  cigarette. 

24 


SMOKE 

The  lady  drew  herself  up,  and  stretched  out  in 
front  of  her  her  bony  right  hand,  with  the  index 
finger  separated. 

"  He  called  his  lackey,  and  said  to  him:  '  Strip 
the  coat  off  this  man  and  take  possession  of  it. 
I  make  you  a  present  of  his  coat.'  " 

'And  did  the  lackey  strip  it  off?"  inquired 
Bambaeff,  clasping  his  hands. 

'  He  stripped  it  off  and  took  it.  And  that  was 
done  by  Prince  Barnauloff ,  the  famous  rich  man, 
the  grandee,  invested  with  special  power,  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  government!  What  may  we 
expect  after  that! " 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff's  feeble  body  quiv- 
ered all  over  with  indignation,  convulsive  shivers 
flitted  across  her  face,  her  emaciated  bosom 
heaved  violently  beneath  her  flat  bodice;  it  is  un- 
necessary to  mention  her  eyes :  they  fairly  leaped. 
However,  they  were  always  leaping,  whatever  she 
was  talking  about. 

'T  is   a  crying,   crying  shame!"   ejaculated 
Bambaeff.  —  "  Hanging  is  too  good  for  him!  " 

"  Mmm  ....  mmm  .  .  .  From  top  to  bottom 
it 's  all  rotten,"  remarked  Gubaryoff ,  but  without 
raising  his  voice. — "  It  is  n't  a  case  for  hanging; 
.  .  .  't  is  a  case  .  .  .  for  other  measures." 

'  But  stay;  is  it  true?  "  said  Litvinoff. 

"Is  it  true?'  retorted  Madame  Sukhantchi- 
koff.  — "Why,  it's  impossible  even  to  think  of 
doubting,    impossible    to    thi-i-i-ink    of    such    a 

25 


SMOKE 

thing.  ."  She  uttered  the  word  with  such  force 
that  she  fairly  writhed.—"  It  was  told  to  me  by  a 
most  reliable  man.  And  you  know  him,  Stepan 
Nikolaevitch— Kapiton  Elistratoff.  He  heard  it 
himself  from  an  eye-witness,  from  a  witness  of 
that  outrageous  scene." 

"  What  Elistratoff?  "  inquired  Gubaryoff.— 
"  The  one  who  was  in  Kazan?  " 

"  The  very  man.  I  know,  Stepan  Nikola- 
itch,  that  a  rumour  was  circulated  about  him 
that  he  had  got  money  out  of  some  contractor 
or  distiller  or  other.  But  who  says  that?  Peli- 
kanoff!  And  can  one  believe  PelikanofF,  when 
everybody  knows  that  he  is  simply— a  spy? ' 

"  No,  permit  me,  Matrona  Semyonovna,"  in- 
terposed BambaefF: — "  I  am  PelikanofF's  friend; 
I  don't  believe  he  is  a  spy." 

"  Yes,  yes,  exactly  that,  a  spy!  " 

"  But  wait  a  bit,  please.  .  ." 

"  A  spy,  a  spy!  "  screamed  Madame  Sukhan- 
tchikofF. 

"But  he  isn't,  no,  wait;  I  '11  tell  you  some- 
thing," shouted  BambaefF  in  his  turn. 

"  A  spy,  a  spy!  "  reiterated  Madame  Sukhan- 
tchikoff. 

"No,  no!  There's  Tenteleeff — that 's  quite 
another  matter! "  roared  BambaefF  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff  became  silent  for  a 
moment. 

26 


SMOKE 

"  I  know  it  for  a  fact,  with  regard  to  that  gen- 
tleman," continued  Bambaeff  in  his  ordinary 
voice,  "  that  when  the  Third  Section  summoned 
him  he  crawled  at  the  feet  of  Countess  Blazen- 
kampf  and  kept  whining: '  Save  me,  intercede  for 
me ! '  But  Pelikanoff  never  descended  to  such 
baseness." 

"Mm  .  .  .  Tenteleeff  .  .  ."  growled  Guba- 
ryoff :— "  that  .  .  that  must  be  noted." 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff  scornfully  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"  Both  are  good,"  she  remarked:— "but  I  know 
a  still  better  anecdote  about  Tenteleeff.  As 
every  one  knows,  he  was  the  most  dreadful  tyrant 
with  his  people,  although  he  gave  himself  out  as 
an  emancipator.  Well,  one  day  he  was  sitting 
with  some  acquaintances  in  Paris,  when,  all  of  a 
sudden,  in  comes  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe,— well,  you 
know,  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  Tenteleeff,  a 
frightfully  conceited  man,  began  to  urge  the  host 
to  present  him;  but  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Stowe  heard 
his  name:  'What?' — says  she: — 'how  dares  he 
make  acquaintance  with  the  author  of  '  Uncle 
Tom'?  And,  whack,  she  slapped  his  face!— 
'Begone!'  says  she, — 'this  instant!' — And 
what  do  you  think?  Tenteleeff  took  his  hat, 
and  putting  his  tail  between  his  legs,  he  slunk 
off." 

'  Well,  that  strikes  me  as  exaggerated,"  re- 
marked  Bambaeff.—"  That   she   did   say    '  Be- 

27 


SMOKE 

gone! '  to  him  is  a  fact;  but  she  did  not  slap  his 
face." 

"  She  did  slap  his  face,  she  did  slap  his  face," 
repeated  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  with  convul- 
sive intensity: — "  I  don't  talk  nonsense.  And 
you  are  the  friend  of  such  people! ' 

"  Excuse  me,  excuse  me,  Matrona  Semyo- 
novna,  I  never  asserted  that  Tenteleeff  was  an  in- 
timate friend  of  mine;  I  was  speaking  of  Peli- 
kanoff." 

"  Well,  if  it  was  n't  Tenteleeff,  it  was  some  one 
else:  Mikhnyoff,  for  instance." 

"  What  did  he  do? "  asked  Bambaeff,  intimi- 
dated in  advance. 

"What?  Don't  you  really  know?  On  the 
Vosnesensky  Prospekt,  in  the  presence  of  every- 
body, he  shouted  out  that  all  liberals  ought  to 
be  in  prison;  and  then  an  old  boarding-school 
comrade,  a  poor  man,  of  course,  comes  up 
to  him,  and  says :  '  May  I  dine  with  you  ? ' 
But  he  answered  him:  'No,  you  cannot;  two 
Counts  are  to  dine  with  me  to-day  .  .  .  .  g' 
way! 

"  But  good  gracious,  that  is  a  calumny!  "  clam- 
oured Bambaeff. 

"A  calumny?  ...  a  calumny?  In  the  first 
place,  Prince  Vakhriishkin,  who  also  was  dining 
with  your  Mikhnyoff  .  .  ." 

"  Prince  Vakhriishkin,"  interposed  Gubaryoff 
sternly,— "  is  my  first  cousin;  but  I  will  not  re- 

28 


SMOKE 

ceive  him.  .  .  Consequently,  there  is  no  use  of 
mentioning  him." 

"  In  the  second  place,"  continued  Madame 
Sukhantchikoff,  submissively  inclining  her  head 
in  the  direction  of  Gubaryoff:— "  Praskovya 
Yakovlevna  herself  told  me  so." 

"A  fine  person  to  allege  as  authority!  She 
and  Sarkisoff  are  first-class  inventors  of  tales." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  must  excuse  me;  Sarkisoff  is 
a  liar,  that 's  a  fact,  and  that  he  pulled  the  brocade 
pall  off  his  dead  father  I  will  never  deny;  but 
Praskovya  Yakovlevna,— what  a  comparison! 
Recollect  how  nobly  she  separated  from  her  hus- 
band! But  you,  I  know,  are  always  ready 
to " 

"  Come,  that  will  do,  that  will  do,  Matrona 
Semyonovna,"  Bambaeff  interrupted  her.—"  Let 
us  drop  this  tittle-tattle  and  soar  aloft.  I  'm  a 
poker  of  ancient  make,1  you  see.  Have  you  read 
1  M'lle  de  la  Quintinie  '?  It  s  charming!  And 
with  exactly  your  principles!  " 

"  I  no  longer  read  romances,"  replied  Madame 
Sukhantchikoff,  drily  and  curtly. 

"Why?" 

Because  it  is  no  time  for  such  things;  I 
have  only  one  thing  in  my  head  now— sewing- 
machines." 

"  What  sort  of  machines?  "  inquired  Litvinoff. 

"  Sewing-,   sewing-machines;   all   women,   all, 

lAn  old-fashioned  man.— Translator. 

29 


SMOKE 

must  supply  themselves  with  sewing-machines, 
and  form  a  society ;  in  that  way  they  will  all  earn 
their  living  and  will  at  once  become  independent. 
Otherwise,  they  cannot  possibly  free  themselves. 
It  is  an  important,  an  important  social  question. 
Boleslaff  Stadnitzky  and  I  had  such  a  dispute 
about  that.  Boleslaff  Stadnitzky  has  a  wonder- 
ful nature,  but  he  looks  on  these  things  in  a  fright- 
fully frivolous  way.  He  does  nothing  but  laugh. 
.  .  .  The  fool!" 

"  All  men  will  be  summoned,  in  due  season,  to 
an  accounting — all  men  will  be  held  responsible," 
remarked  Gubaryoff  slowly,  in  a  partly  dogmatic, 
partly  prophetic  tone. 

"Yes,  yes,"  repeated  Bambaeff:— "  they  will 
be  held  responsible — exactly  so,  held  responsible. 
And  how  about  your  work,  Stepan  Nikolaitch," 
he  added,  lowering  his  voice: — "is  it  pro- 
gressing? " 

"  I  am  collecting  the  materials,"  replied  Guba- 
ryoff, knitting  his  brows;  and  turning  to  Litvi- 
noff,  whose  head  was  growing  giddy  with  that 
mess  of  names  which  were  unfamiliar  to  him, 
with  that  frenzy  of  gossip,  asked  him :  with  what 
did  he  occupy  himself? 

Litvinoff  satisfied  his  curiosity. 

'  Ah !  that  is  to  say  with  the  natural  sciences. 

That  is  useful,  as  a  school.     As  a  school,  not 

as   a   goal.      The   goal   now   should   be   ...    . 

mm  .  .  .  should  be  .  .  .  something  else.     Per- 

30 


SMOKE 

mit  me  to  inquire,  with  what  opinions  do  you  take 
sides? " 

"  What  opinions? " 

"  Yes;  that  is  to  say,  what  are  your  political 
convictions?  " 

Litvinoff  smiled. 

"  I  really  have  no  political  opinions  whatever." 

At  these  words  the  thick-set  man,  who  was  sit- 
ting in  the  corner,  suddenly  raised  his  head,  and 
gazed  attentively  at  Litvinoff. 

"How  so?"  said  Gubaryoff,  with  strange 
gentleness.  — "  Have  n't  you  gone  into  the  sub- 
ject yet,  or  have  you  already  grown  tired  of  it? ' 

"  How  shall  I  explain  it  to  you?  It  seems  to 
me  that  it  is  still  too  early  for  us  Russians  to  have 
political  opinions,  or  to  imagine  that  we  have 
them.  Observe  that  I  give  to  the  word  '  political ' 
the  meaning  which  rightfully  belongs  to  it,  and 

II  lill      •     •     •     • 

"  Aha!  you  're  one  of  the  unripe  ones,"  Guba- 
ryoff interrupted  him  with  the  same  gentleness, 
and  approaching  Voroshiloff,  he  asked  him:— had 
he  read  the  pamphlet  which  he  had  given  him? 

Voroshiloff,  who,  to  Litvinoff's  surprise,  had 
not  uttered  the  smallest  word  since  his  arrival,  but 
had  merely  scowled  and  rolled  his  eyes  about  (as 
a  rule  he  either  orated  or  maintained  complete 
silence) , — Voroshiloff  thrust  out  his  chest  in  mili- 
tary fashion,  and  clicking  his  heels  together, 
nodded  his  head  in  the  affirmative. 

31 


SMOKE 

"  Well,  and  what  then?    Were  you  pleased?  " 

"  So  far  as  the  principal  premises  are  con- 
cerned, but  I  do  not  agree  with  the  deductions." 

"  Mmm  .  .  .  but  Andrei  Ivanitch  praised  that 
pamphlet  to  me  very  highly.  You  must  state 
your  doubts  to  me  later  on." 

Gubaryoff  was  evidently  surprised :  he  had  not 
expected  this ;  but  after  reflecting  briefly,  he  artic- 
ulated : 

"  Yes,  in  writing.  By  the  way,  I  will  ask  you 
to  state  for  me  also  your  views  .  .  .  .  as  to  .  .  . 
as  to  association." 

"  Would  you  like  it  after  the  method  of  Las- 
salle,  or  of  Schulze-Delitzsch?  " 

"  Mmm  .  .  .  after  both  methods.  You  under- 
stand that  the  financial  side  is  especially  impor- 
tant for  us  Russians.  Well,  and  the  working- 
men's  union  *  as  the  kernel.  .  .  All  that  must  be 
taken  into  consideration.  It  must  be  thoroughly 
investigated.  And  there  is  the  question  of  the 
peasants'  allotments.  .  ." 

"  And  what  is  your  opinion,  Stepan  Nikola- 
itch,  as  to  the  suitable  amount  of  desyatinas? ' 
inquired    Voroshfloff,    with    respectful    delicacy 
in  his  voice. 

"Mmm  .  .  .  And  the  commune?'  said  Gu- 
baryoff with  profundity,  and  gnawing  a  tuft  of 

1  The  artdl,  which  represents  workingmen  united  in  voluntary,  elas- 
tic associations  for  the  purpose  of  fulfilling  contracts  to  advan- 
tage, insuring  trustworthiness,  and   so   forth.— Translator. 

32 


SMOKE 

his  beard  he  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  leg  of  the  table. 
— "  The  commune.  .  .  Do  you  understand? 
That  is  a  grand  word!  And  then,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  these  conflagrations  ....  these  gov- 
ernmental measures  against  Sunday-schools,1 
reading-rooms,  newspapers?— and,  in  conclusion, 
that  which  is  going  on  in  Poland  ?  Do  you  not  see 
to  what  all  this  is  leading,  that  .  .  .  mm  .  .  . 
that  we  .  .  .  we  must  now  fuse  ourselves  with  the 
people,  must  find  out  .  .  find  out  their  opinion? ' 
—Gubaryoff  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  painful, 
almost  malignant,  agitation;  he  even  turned  a 
greyish-brown  hue  in  the  face  and  breathed  more 
vehemently,  but  still  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  and 
continued   to   chew   his   beard. — "  Do   you    not 

ot^tr     .     •     .     • 

"  Evseeff  is  a  scoundrel!  "  suddenly  blurted  out 
Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  to  whom  Bambaeff  was 
narrating  something  in  an  undertone,  out  of  re- 
spect for  the  host.  Gubaryoff  wheeled  abruptly 
round  on  his  heels,  and  began  again  to  hobble  up 
and  down  the  room. 

New  guests  began  to  make  their  appearance; 
toward  the  end  of  the  evening  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  persons  had  assembled.  Among  them  came 
also  Mr.  Evseeff,  who  had  been  so  harshly  abused 
by  Madame   Sukhantchikoff:   she   chatted   with 

1  For  the  instruction  in  the  common  branches  of  workingmen  who 
are  occupied  on  week-days.  As  religion  forms  a  prominent  subject 
in  all  school-courses  in  Russia,  Sunday-schools  in  the  Western  sense 
of  the  word  are  unnecessary. — Translator. 

33 


SMOKE 

him  in  a  very  friendly  manner,  and  asked  him  to 
escort  her  home;  there  came  also  a  certain  Pish- 
tchalkin,  an  ideal  arbitrator  of  the  peace,1  pre- 
cisely one  of  those  men  of  whom,  possibly,  Russia 
is  in  need,  namely — narrow,  badly  educated  and 
untalented  but  conscientious,  patient,  and  hon- 
ourable; the  peasants  of  his  district  almost  wor- 
shipped him,  and  he  treated  himself  with  extreme 
respect  as  an  individual  truly  worthy  of  homage. 
There  came  also  several  young  officers  who  had 
run  off  on  a  brief  leave  of  absence  to  Europe, 
and  were  delighted  at  the  opportunity,  cautiously, 
of  course,  and  without  banishing  from  their  minds 
a  mental  reservation  about  the  regimental  com- 
mander, to  indulge  themselves  with  clever  and 
rather  dangerous  people;  and  two  slender  young 
students  had  run  over  from  Heidelberg:  one  kept 
gazing  scornfully  about  him,  the  other  laughed 
spasmodically  .  .  and  both  were  very  ill  at  ease; 
after  them  a  Frenchman  pushed  his  way  in,  a  so- 
called  p'tit  jeune  homme:  dirty,  poor  and  stu- 
pid .  .  he  was  famous  among  his  comrades,  who 
were  travelling  salesmen,  because  Russian  Coun- 
tesses fell  in  love  with  him;  but  he  himself  was 
more  intent  on  a  gratuitous  supper;  last  of  all, 
Tit  Bindasoff  presented  himself,  with  the  aspect 
of  a  noisy  student,  but  in  reality  he  was  a  cur- 
mudgeon and  a  crafty  fellow,  in  speech  a  terror- 

1  An  official  appointed  at  the  time  of  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs 
to  decide  dissensions  between  them  and  the  landed  proprietors  arising 
out  of  the  distribution  of  the  land.  —Translator. 

34 


SMOKE 

ist,  by  vocation  a  police-captain,  the  friend  of 
Russian  merchants'  wives  and  of  Parisian  cour- 
tesans, bald,  toothless,  drunken;  he  presented 
himself  in  a  very  crimson  and  evil  state,  asserting 
that  he  had  lost  his  last  kopek  to  that  "  little  rascal 
Benazet,"  when,  in  reality,  he  had  won  sixteen 
gulden.  .  .  In  a  word,  a  great  many  persons  as- 
sembled. The  respect  with  which  all  the  visitors 
treated  Gubaryoff  as  a  teacher  or  leader  was  re- 
markable—truly remarkable;  they  expounded  to 
him  their  doubts,  submitted  them  to  his  judg- 
ment; but  he  replied  .  .  with  a  bellow,  by  tug- 
ging at  his  beard,  by  rolling  his  eyes,  or  by 
fragmentary,  insignificant  words,  which  were  im- 
mediately caught  up  on  the  fly  like  utterances  of 
the  loftiest  wisdom.  Gubaryoff  himself  rarely 
joined  in  the  discussion;  on  the  other  hand,  the 
rest  zealously  strained  their  chests.  It  hap- 
pened more  than  once  that  three  or  four  were 
shouting  simultaneously  for  the  course  of  ten 
minutes,  but  every  one  was  satisfied  and  under- 
stood. The  conversation  lasted  until  after  mid- 
night, and  was  distinguished,  as  usual,  by  the 
abundance  and  the  variety  of  subjects.  Ma- 
dame Sukhantchikoff  talked  about  Garibaldi, 
about  some  Karl  Ivanovitch,  who  had  been 
flogged  by  his  own  house-serfs,  about  Napoleon 
III.,  about  female  labour,  about  merchant  Ples- 
katchyofF,  who,  according  to  common  know- 
ledge,   had     starved    twelve    working-girls    to 

85 


SMOKE 

death,    and    had,    on    that    account,    received    a 
medal    with    the    inscription :    "  For    a    useful 
deed  " ;  about  the  proletariat,  about  the  Georgian 
Prince  TchuktcheulidzefF,  who  had  fired  his  wife 
from  a  cannon,  and  about  the  future  of  Russia; 
Pishtchalkin  also  talked  about  the  future  of  Rus- 
sia, about  government  monopolies,  about  the  sig- 
nificance of  nationality,  and  about  his  detesting 
commonplace  things  most  of  all ;  Voroshiloff  sud- 
denly broke  out :  in  one  breath,  and  almost  chok- 
ing himself  in  the  process,  he  mentioned  Draper, 
Virchow,   Mr.    ShelgunofF,   Bichat,    Helmholtz, 
Stahr,   Stuhr,  Raymond,  Johannes  Miiller  the 
physiologist,  Johannes  Miiller  the  historian, — evi- 
dently confounding  them, — Taine,  Renan,  Mr. 
Shtchapoff,    and    then    Thomas    Nash,    Peel, 
Greene.  .  .  "What   sort   of   birds   are   these?' 
muttered  BambaefF  in  amazement.     '  The  prede- 
cessors of  Shakespeare,  who  bear  to  him  the  same 
relation  that  the  ramifications  of  the  Alps  bear 
to  Mont  Blanc!"  replied  Voroshiloff  cuttingly, 
and   also  touched   upon  the   future  of   Russia. 
BambaefF,  too,  talked  about  the  future  of  Rus- 
sia, and  even  painted  it  in  rainbow-tinted  colours, 
but  was  raised  to  special  rapture  by  the  thought 
of  Russian  music,  in  which  he  beheld  something 
'  Ukh!  great,"  and  in  confirmation  he  struck  up 
a  romance  by  VarlamofF,  but  was  speedily  inter- 
rupted by  a  unanimous  shout  to  the  effect:  "  He  's 
singing  the  Miserere  from  '  Trovatore,'  and  sing- 
ing it  very  badly  at  that."  One  young  officer,  un- 

36 


SMOKE 

der  cover  of  the  uproar,  reviled  Russian  litera- 
ture, another  quoted  verses  from  the  "  Spark"; 
but  Tit  Bindiisoff  behaved  still  more  simply:  he 
announced  that  all  those  rascals  ought  to  have 
their  teeth  knocked  out— and  enough  said!  with- 
out, however,  specif ying  who  those  rascals  were. 
The  cigar-smoke  became  stifling;  every  one  was 
heated  and  languid,  all  had  grown  hoarse,  every 
one's  eyes  had  grown  dim,  the  perspiration  was 
coursing  in  streams  from  every  face.  Bottles  of 
cold  beer  made  their  appearance,  and  were  in- 
stantly emptied.  "  What  the  deuce  was  it  I 
was  saying?"  insisted  one;  "and  whom  and 
about  what  have  I  just  been  talking? "  inquired 
another.  And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  tumult 
and  smoke-laden  atmosphere  Gubaryoff  strode 
about  untiringly,  waddling  and  ruffling  his 
beard  as  before,  now  listening,  with  ear  inclined, 
to  some  one's  argument,  again  putting  in  a  word 
of  his  own,  and  every  one  involuntarily  felt  that 
he,  Gubaryoff,  was  the  matrix  of  the  whole  af- 
fair, that  he  was  the  master  and  chief  personage 
there.  ... 

About  ten  o'clock  Litvinoff's  head  began  to 
ache  violently,  and  he  quietly  withdrew,  availing 
himself  of  a  recrudescence  of  the  general  clam- 
our: Madame  Sukhantchikoff  had  recalled  an- 
other piece  of  injustice  on  the  part  of  Prince 
Barnaiiloff:  he  had  practically  ordered  some 
one's  ear  to  be  bitten  off. 

The  fresh  night  air  clung  caressingly  to  Lit- 

37 


SMOKE 

vinoff's  inflamed  face,  and  flowed  in  a  fragrant 
flood  between  his  parched  lips.  "  What  is  it?  "  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  strolled  along  the  dark  ave- 
nue: "  what  sort  of  a  thing  was  it  that  I  was  pres- 
ent at?  Why  did  they  meet  together?  Why  did 
they  shout  and  quarrel,  why  did  they  get  so  ex- 
cited? What's  the  use  of  it  all?"  Litvinoff 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  betook  himself  to 
Weber's,  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  ordered  an 
ice.  The  newspaper  discussed  the  Roman  ques- 
tion, and  the  ice  turned  out  to  be  bad.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  going  home,  when  suddenly  there 
stepped  up  to  him  a  stranger  in  a  broad-brimmed 
hat,  who,  remarking  in  Russian,  "  I  hope  I  do 
not  disturb  you?  "  seated  himself  at  his  little  table. 
Then  only  did  Litvinoff,  on  gazing  more  atten- 
tively at  the  stranger,  recognise  in  him  the  thick- 
set man  who  had  hidden  himself  in  the  corner  at 
Gubaryoff's  and  had  scrutinised  him  with  so  much 
attention  when  the  conversation  turned  on  politi- 
cal convictions.  During  the  whole  course  of  the 
evening  that  gentleman  had  not  opened  his 
mouth,  and  now,  having  seated  himself  beside 
Litvinoff  and  removed  his  hat,  he  gazed  at  him 
with  a  friendly  and  somewhat  embarrassed  look. 


38 


"  Mr.  Gubaryoff,  at  whose  house  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  to-day,"  he  began, — "  did 
not  introduce  me  to  you ;  so,  if  you  will  permit  me, 
I  will  introduce  myself:  Potiigin,  retired  court 
councillor,  served  in  the  Ministry  of  Finance,  in 
St.  Petersburg.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  think  it 
strange.  .  I  am  not  generally  in  the  habit  of  mak- 
ing acquaintance  so  quickly,  .  .  but  with  you  .  .  ." 

Here  Potiigin  began  to  stammer,  and  asked  a 
waiter  to  bring  him  a  glass  of  cherry  cordial. 
"  To  give  me  courage,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

Litvinoff  gazed  with  redoubled  attention  at 
this  last  one  of  all  the  new  persons  with  whom  it 
had  been  his  lot  to  come  in  contact  that  day,  and 
immediately  said  to  himself:  "  This  man  is  not 
like  those  others." 

And,  in  fact,  he  was  not.  Before  him,  running 
his  slender  fingers  along  the  edge  of  the  table, 
sat  a  broad-shouldered  man,  with  an  ample  body 
mounted  on  short  legs,  a  drooping,  curly  head, 
very  clever  and  very  melancholy  little  eyes  be- 
neath thick  eyebrows,  a  large,  regular  mouth, 
poor  teeth,  and  that  purely  Russian  nose  to  which 
the  name  of  "potato"  has  been  appropriated; 

39 


SMOKE 

a  man  with  an  awkward  and  even  a  rather  wild, 
but  assuredly  not  a  commonplace,  aspect.  He 
was  negligently  dressed:  an  old-fashioned  coat 
sat  on  him  like  a  bag,  and  his  necktie  had  got 
twisted  to  one  side.  His  sudden  confidence  not 
only  did  not  impress  Litvinoff  as  an  intrusion, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  secretly  flattered  him :  it  was 
impossible  not  to  perceive  that  this  man  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  forcing  himself  upon  strangers. 
He  produced  a  strange  impression  upon  Litvi- 
noff:  he  evoked  in  him  both  respect  and  sympa- 
thy, and  a  certain  involuntary  pity. 

"  So  I  do  not  disturb  you?  "  he  repeated  in  a 
soft,  rather  hoarse  and  feeble  voice,  which  suited 
his  whole  figure  to  perfection. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Litvinoff; — "  on  the 
contrary,  I  am  very  glad." 

"  Really?  Well,  then,  I  am  glad  too.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  you;  I  know  what  you 
are  occupying  yourself  with  and  what  your  inten- 
tions are.  'T  is  a  good  occupation.  That  is  the 
reason  you  were  taciturn  to-day,  by  the  way." 

:  Yes,  and  it  strikes  me  that  you  had  very  little 
to  say  also,"  remarked  Litvinoff. 

Potugin  sighed. 

"  The  others  argued  a  very  great  deal,  sir.  I 
listened.  Well,"  he  added,  after  a  brief  pause, 
and  setting  his  brows  in  rather  comical  fashion, 
— "  were  you  pleased  with  our  babel  of  an  up- 


roar  J 


40 


SMOKE 

'  It  was  a  regular  babel.  That  was  extremely 
well  said  on  your  part.  I  kept  wanting  to  ask 
those  gentlemen  why  they  were  making  such  a 
fuss." 

Again  Potugin  sighed. 

'  That 's  precisely  the  point,  that  they  don't 
know  themselves,  sir.  In  former  times  people 
would  have  expressed  themselves  about  them  in 
this  manner:  '  They  are  the  blind  instruments  of 
the  highest  aims  ' ;  well,  but  nowadays  we  employ 
harsher  epithets.  And  observe  that  I  myself  have 
not  the  slightest  intention  of  condemning  them ;  I 
will  say  more,  they  are  all  .  .  that  is,  almost  all, 
very  fine  people.  I  know  a  great  deal  that  is 
good  about  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  for  exam- 
ple: she  gave  her  last  penny  to  two  poor  nieces. 
Let  us  assume  that  the  motive  there  was  a  desire 
to  show  off,  to  brag,  yet  you  must  admit  that  it 
was  a  noteworthy  bit  of  self-sacrifice  on  the  part 
of  a  woman  who  is  not  wealthy  herself!  About 
Mr.  Pishtchalkin  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak:  in 
due  time  the  peasants  of  his  district  will  infallibly 
present  him  with  a  silver  cup  in  the  shape  of  a 
watermelon,  and  possibly  a  holy  image  with  the 
picture  of  his  guardian  angel,  and  although  he 
will  tell  them  in  his  speech  of  thanks  that  he  does 
not  deserve  such  an  honour,  he  will  be  telling  an 
untruth:  he  does  deserve  it.  Your  friend,  Mr. 
Bambaeff,  has  a  splendid  heart;  it  is  true  that, 
with  him,  as  with  the  poet  YazykofF,  who,  they 

41 


SMOKE 

say,  extolled  debauchery  while  he  sat  over  a 
book  and  drank  water,  enthusiasm  is  really  not 
directed  at  anything,  but  it  is  enthusiasm,  never- 
theless; and  Mr.  Voroshiloff  is  extremely  kind 
also;  he  is  like  all  the  men  of  his  school,  the  men 
of  the  gilded  classes,  who  seem  to  be  sent  expressly 
as  orderlies  to  science,  to  civilisation ;  and  he  even 
holds  his  tongue  pompously:  but  he  is  so  young 
still!  Yes,  yes,  they  are  all  excellent  people,  but 
the  sum  total  is  nothing;  the  provisions  are  first- 
class,  but  the  dish  is  n't  fit  to  put  in  your 
mouth!" 

Litvinoff  listened  to  Potiigin  with  increasing 
amazement:  all  his  ways,  all  the  turns  of  his  de- 
liberate, but  self-confident  speech,  revealed  both 
understanding  and  the  desire  to  talk. 

Potiigin,  in  fact,  both  liked  and  understood 
how  to  talk ;  but,  as  a  man  out  of  whom  life  had 
already  succeeded  in  eliminating  conceit,  he 
awaited  with  philosophical  composure  his  oppor- 
tunity, an  encounter  after  his  own  heart. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  began  again,  with  a  humour  not 
sickly,  but  sad,  which  was  peculiarly  characteris- 
tic of  him: — "  all  that  is  very  strange,  sir.  And 
here  is  another  thing  which  I  will  beg  you  to  note. 
When  ten  Englishmen,  for  example,  come  to- 
gether, they  immediately  begin  to  discuss  the  sub- 
marine telegraph,  the  tax  on  paper,  the  process  of 
dressing  rats'  skins, — that  is  to  say,  something 
positive,   something   definite;   let  ten   Germans 

42 


SMOKE 

come  together,— well,  there,  of  course,  Schleswig- 
Holstein  and  the  unity  of  Germany  make  their 
appearance  on  the  scene;  if  ten  Frenchmen  as- 
semble the  conversation  will  infallibly  touch  on 
1  piquant  adventures,'  let  them  evade  it  as  they 
will ;  but  when  ten  Russians  get  together  the  ques- 
tion instantly  arises, — you  have  had  an  opportu- 
nity to-day  of  convincing  yourself  on  that  point, 
— the  question  as  to  the  significance,  the  future 
of  Russia,  and  that  in  just  such  general  terms, 
beginning  with  Leda's  eggs,  insusceptible  of 
proof,  without  any  issue.  They  chew  and  chew 
on  that  question,  as  a  small  child  does  on  a  piece 
of  india  rubber:  there  's  no  juice  or  sense  in  it. 
Well,  and,  by  the  way,  of  course  the  rotten  West 
catches  it  also.  A  pretty  preachment,  as  you  can 
imagine!  it  beats  us  at  every  point,  that  West — 
but  it 's  rotten !  And  even  if  we  did  really  despise 
it,"  continued  Potugin:— "  nevertheless,  all  that 
is  mere  phrase-making  and  lies.  We  certainly  do 
revile  it,  but  its  opinion  is  the  only  one  we  value 
— that  is  to  say,  the  opinion  of  Parisian  cox- 
combs. I  have  an  acquaintance,  and  a  very  nice 
sort  of  man  he  is,  apparently,  the  father  of  a 
family,  and  no  longer  young;  and  that  man  was 
in  a  state  of  depression  for  several  days  because 
he  had  ordered  une  portion  de  biftek  auoo  pommes 
de  terre,  while  a  real  Frenchman  immediately 
shouted  out:  'Garcon!  biftek  pommes!'  My  friend 
was  consumed  with  shame!     And  afterward  he 

43 


SMOKE 

shouted  everywhere :  '  Biftek  pommies! '  and 
taught  others.  The  very  courtesans  are  as- 
tounded at  the  devout  tremor  wherewith  our 
young  fellows  from  the  steppes  enter  their  igno- 
minious drawing-rooms.  .  .  '  Good  heavens ! ' 
they  say  to  themselves,  '  am  I  really  here?  At 
Annah  Deslions! '  " 

"  Please  tell  me,"  inquired  Litvinoff,  "  to  what 
do  you  ascribe  the  indubitable  influence  of  Guba- 
ryoff  on  all  the  people  around  him?  Not  to  his 
gifts  or  to  his  capacities? " 

"  No,  sir;  no,  sir ;  he  has  nothing  of  that  sort. . ." 

"  To  his  character,  then?  " 

"  He  has  not  that  either,  but  he  has  a  great  deal 
of  will,  sir.  We  Slavonians  in  general,  as  is  well 
known,  are  not  rich  in  that  attribute,  and  we  give 
up  in  presence  of  it.  Mr.  Gubaryoff  desired  to 
be  a  leader,  and  every  one  has  recognised  him  as 
a  leader.  What  would  you  have  done  about  it? 
The  government  has  released  us  from  serfdom, 
and  we  thank  it;  but  the  habits  of  serfdom  have 
taken  too  profound  a  root  in  us ;  we  shall  not  soon 
rid  ourselves  of  them.  In  everything  and  every- 
where we  want  a  master;  this  master,  in  the  ma- 
jority of  cases,  is  a  vivacious  individual;  some- 
times some  so-called  tendency  acquires  a  power 
over  us  .  .  .  now,  for  example,  we  have  all  bound 
ourselves  as  slaves  to  the  natural  sciences.  .  . 
Why,  by  virtue  of  what  reasons,  we  enroll  our- 
selves as  slaves,  is  an  obscure  matter;  evidently 

44 


SMOKE 

such  is  our  nature.  But  the  principal  point  is 
that  we  should  possess  a  master.  Well,  and  there 
we  have  him ;  that  means  he  is  ours,  and  we  don't 
care  a  copper  about  the  rest!  Purely  bondmen! 
Both  the  pride  of  the  bondman  and  the  humilia- 
tion of  the  bondman.  A  new  master  has  come 
into  existence — away  with  the  old  one !  The  other 
was  named  Yakoff,  this  one  is  called  Sidor;  give 
Yakoff  a  box  on  the  ears,  fall  at  the  feet  of  Sidor! 
Recollect  how  many  tricks  of  that  sort  have  taken 
place  among  us !  We  prattle  about  renunciation 
as  our  distinguishing  characteristic ;  but  we  do  not 
exercise  renunciation  like  a  free  man  who  smites 
with  his  sword,  but  like  a  lackey,  who  administers 
a  thrashing  with  his  fist,  and,  what  is  more,  admin- 
isters a  thrashing  at  his  master's  behest.  Well, 
sir,  and  we  are  also  a  soft  race;  it  is  not  difficult 
to  keep  a  tight  hand  over  us.  And  that 's  the  way 
Mr.  Gubaryoff  has  come  to  be  a  master ;  he  ham- 
mered and  hammered  away  at  one  point  until  he 
attained  his  object.  People  perceive  that  a  man 
has  a  great  opinion  of  himself,  believes  in  himself, 
issues  orders — the  principal  thing  is  to  issue  or- 
ders; they  conclude  that  he  is  right  and  that  he 
must  be  obeyed.  All  our  sectarians,  our  sects 
of  Onuphry  and  of  Akulina,1  had  their  origin  in 

1  Oniifry— the  founder  of  the  priestless  sect  of  the  Old  Ritual- 
ists: born  1829.  —  Akulina  Ivanovna  was  the  name  of  three  of  the 
so-called  Birthgivers  of  God  (Madonnas)  in  the  Scourgers'  and 
Skoptzy  sects.  Hence,  one  heresy  received  from  them  the  appelhv 
tion  of  "  Akulinovshtchina." — Translator. 

45 


SMOKE 

precisely  this  manner.  He  who  has  seized  the 
staff  is  the  commander." 

Potugin's  cheeks  had  flushed  crimson  and  his 
eyes  had  grown  dim;  but,  strange  to  say,  his 
speech,  bitter  and  even  malicious  though  it  was, 
did  not  smack  of  gall,  but  rather  of  sadness,  and 
upright,  genuine  sadness  at  that. 

"  How  did  you  become  acquainted  with  Guba- 
ryoff? "  inquired  Litvinoff. 

"  I  have  known  him  for  a  long  time,  sir.  And 
observe  another  queer  thing  about  us:  a  man — 
for  instance,  an  author  possibly — has  been  revil- 
ing drunkenness  all  his  life,  in  verse  and  in  prose, 
and  upbraiding  .  .  .  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  takes 
and  buys  two  distilleries  himself  and  leases  a  hun- 
dred dram-shops— and  it's  nothing!  People 
would  wipe  another  man  off  the  face  of  the  earth, 
but  they  do  not  even  reproach  him.  Now  there  's 
Mr.  Gubaryoff :  he  's  a  Slavophil,  and  a  demo- 
crat, and  a  socialist,  and  anything  else  you  like, 
but  his  estate  always  has  been  managed  and  is  still 
managed  by  his  brother,  a  master  of  the  ancient 
type,  one  of  the  sort  who  were  called  '  Danteists.' 
And  that  same  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  who 
represents  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe  as  slapping  Ten- 
teleeff's  face,  almost  crawls  before  Gubaryoff. 
But,  you  know,  the  only  thing  about  him  is  that 
he  reads  clever  books  and  is  forever  trying  to  get 
down  into  the  depths.  As  to  his  gift  of  language, 
you  have  been  able  to  judge  for  yourself  to-day; 

46 


SMOKE 

and  thank  God,  too,  that  he  says  but  little,  and 
only  writhes  all  the  time.  Because,  when  he  is 
in  the  mood  and  lets  himself  go  freely,  then  it  is 
more  than  even  I,  a  long-suffering  man,  can  tol- 
erate. He  begins  to  banter  and  to  narrate  filthy 
anecdotes,— yes,  yes,  our  great  Mr.  Gubaryoff 
narrates  filthy  anecdotes  and  laughs  so  abomina- 
bly the  while  .  .  .  ." 

'  Are  you  really  so  long-suffering?  "  said  Lit- 
vinoff. — "  I  should  have  supposed  the  contrary. 
.  .  .  But  permit  me  to  inquire,  what  is  your  name 
and  your  patronymic?  " 

Potiigin  sipped  a  little  of  the  cherry  cordial. 

"  My  name  is  Sozont  .  .  Sozont  Ivanitch. 
They  gave  me  that  very  beautiful  name  in  honour 
of  a  relative,  an  Archimandrite,  to  whom  I  am 
indebted  for  this  alone.  I  am  of  the  ecclesiastical 
race,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  express  myself  thus. 
And  you  make  a  mistake  in  doubting  that  I  am 
patient:  I  am  patient.  I  served  for  two  and 
twenty  years  under  my  uncle,  actual  state  coun- 
cillor Irinarkh  Potiigin.  You  did  not  know 
him? " 

"  No." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  that.  No,  I  am  pa- 
tient. But  *  let  us  return  to  the  first  point,'  as 
my  colleague,  the  burnt-alive  Archpriest  Avak- 
kum !  was  accustomed  to  say.    I  am  amazed,  my 

1  Av&kkum  Petrdvitch,  an  ardent  preacher  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
Old  Ritualists,  who  refused  to  accept  the  corrections  (typo- 
graphical and  other)  made  in  the  Scriptures  and  Church  Service 

47 


SMOKE 

dear  sir,  at  my  fellow-countrymen.  They  are  all 
low-spirited,  they  all  go  about  in  a  dejected  way, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  they  are  all  filled  with  hope, 
and  at  the  slightest  excuse  they  fairly  go  mad. 
Now  take  the  Slavophils,  among  whom  Mr. 
Gubaryoff  reckons  himself:  they  are  very  fine 
people,  but  there  's  the  same  mixture  of  despair 
and  irritation,  and  they  also  live  in  the  future. 
It 's  all  coming,  it 's  coming,  they  say.  There  's 
nothing  in  hand  at  the  present  moment,  and  Rus- 
sia, in  the  course  of  ten  whole  centuries,  has  never 
worked  out  a  single  thing  of  her  own,  neither  in 
government,  nor  in  courts  of  justice,  nor  in  sci- 
ence, nor  in  art,  nor  even  in  the  handicrafts.  .  . 
But  wait;  have  patience:  everything  will  come. 
And  why  will  it  come,  allow  me  to  inquire? 
Because,  forsooth,  we  are  cultured  people, — 
— stuff  and  nonsense;  but  the  people  .  .  oh,  it  's 
a  grand  people!  Do  you  see  that  peasant  coat? 
that  's  what  all  will  proceed  from.  All  the 
other  idols  have  been  smashed;  but  let  us  have 
faith  in  the  peasant  coat.  Well,  and  what 
if  the  peasant  coat  betrays  you?  No,  it  will  not 
betray;  read  Madame  Kokhanovsky,1  and  roll 
your  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling!    Really,  if  I  were  an 

books  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great's  father.  Avakkum  was 
forced  to  become  a  monk,  banished  to  Siberia,  brought  back  to 
Moscow,  imprisoned,  and  eventually  banished  again  to  Pustozersk, 
Arkhangel  Government.  For  his  persistent  heretical  propaganda 
he  and  his  companions  were  burned  alive  in  1681.— Translator. 

lNadezhda  Stepanovna  Sokhansky  (1825-1884),  who  wrote  un- 
der the  name  of  "  Kokhan6vsky." — Translator. 

48 


SMOKE 

artist  this  is  the  sort  of  a  picture  I  would  paint: 
a  cultivated  man  is  standing  in  front  of  a  peasant 
and  bowing  low  to  him :  '  Heal  me,  my  dear  peas- 
ant, says  he,  '  I  am  perishing  with  disease  ' ;  but 
the  peasant,  in  his  turn,  bows  low  before  the  edu- 
cated man.  '  Please  teach  me,  dear  master,'  says 
he,  '  I  am  perishing  with  ignorance.'  Well,  and 
of  course  both  of  them  stick  right  where  they  are. 
But  all  that  is  needed  is  really  to  become  humble, 
— not  in  words  alone, — and  adopt  from  our  elder 
brothers  that  which  they  have  invented — better 
than  we  and  earlier  than  we!  Waiter,  another 
glass  of  cherry  cordial !  You  must  not  think  that 
I  am  a  drunkard,  but  alcohol  loosens  my  tongue." 
'  After  what  you  have  just  said,"  observed  Lit- 
vinoff,  with  a  smile, — "  it  is  not  worth  while  for 
me  to  ask  to  what  party  you  belong  and  what 
opinion  you  hold  concerning  Europe.  But  per- 
mit me  to  make  one  remark.  Here  you  say  that 
we  ought  to  borrow,  to  adopt  from  our  elder 
brothers;  but  how  can  we  adopt  without  taking 
into  consideration  the  conditions  of  climate  and 
soil,  with  local  and  national  peculiarities?  I  re- 
member that  my  father  ordered  from  Butenop's 
foundry  a  splendidly  recommended  winnowing- 
machine;  the  winnowing-machine  really  was  very 
good.  But  what  happened?  For  five  whole  years 
it  stood  in  the  shed  utterly  useless,  until  it  was  re- 
placed by  a  wooden  American  machine,— which 
was  much  better  suited  to  our  manner  of  life  and 

49 


SMOKE 

to  our  habits,  as  American  machines  are,  in  gen- 
eral. It  is  impossible  to  adopt  things  at  hap- 
hazard, Sozont  Ivanitch." 

Potiigin  raised  his  head  a  little. 

"  I  did  not  expect  that  sort  of  retort  from  you, 
most  respected  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"  he  be- 
gan, after  a  brief  pause.—"  And  who  forces  you 
to  adopt  at  haphazard?  Surely  you  take  a  for- 
eign thing  not  because  it  is  foreign,  but  because 
you  find  it  suitable :  consequently,  you  do  take  the 
circumstances  into  consideration,  you  do  make  a 
selection.  And  so  far  as  the  results  are  concerned, 
pray  do  not  disturb  yourself:  they  will  be  orig- 
inal by  virtue  of  precisely  those  local,  climatic  and 
other  conditions  to  which  you  allude.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  offer  good  food,  and  the  natural 
stomach  will  digest  it  after  its  own  fashion ;  and, 
in  course  of  time,  when  the  organism  shall  have 
gained  strength,  it  will  yield  its  own  sap.  Just 
take  our  language  as  an  example.  Peter  the 
Great  deluged  it  with  thousands  of  foreign  words 
— Dutch,  French,  and  German:  those  words  ex- 
pressed conceptions  with  which  it  was  necessary 
to  make  the  Russian  nation  acquainted;  without 
philosophising,  and  without  standing  on  cere* 
mony,  Peter  poured  those  words  wholesale,  by 
the  bucketful,  by  the  cask,  into  our  bosom.  At 
first,  it  is  true,  the  result  was  something  mon- 
strous, but  later  on— precisely  that  digestive  pro- 
cess set  in  which  I  have  mentioned  to  you.    The 

50 


SMOKE 

conceptions  became  grafted  on  and  appropriated ; 
the  foreign  forms  gradually  evaporated;  the  lan- 
guage found  in  its  own  bosom  the  wherewithal  to 
replace  them — and  now,  your  humble  servant,  a 
very  mediocre  master  of  style,  will  undertake  to 
translate  any  page  you  please  from  Hegel, — yes, 
sir;  yes,  sir;  from  Hegel, — without  making  use 
of  a  single  non-Slavonic  word.  That  which  has 
taken  place  with  the  language  will,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  take  place  in  other  spheres.  The  whole 
question  lies  here — is  nature  strong?  But  our  na- 
ture is  all  right ;  it  will  stand  the  strain :  that 's  not 
where  the  great  difficulty  lies.  Only  nervous  in- 
valids and  weak  nations  can  fear  for  their  health, 
for  their  independence;  and  just  so,  only  idle 
people  are  capable  of  going  into  raptures  until 
they  foam  at  the  mouth,  because,  forsooth,  we  are 
Russians,  say  they.  I  am  very  solicitous  about 
my  health,  but  I  don't  go  into  raptures  over  it: 
I  'm  ashamed  to,  sir." 

"  All  that  is  true,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  began  Lit- 
vinofF  in  his  turn:—"  but  why  must  we,  inevita- 
bly, be  subjected  to  such  tests?  You  say  yourself 
that  the  first  result  was  something  monstrous! 
Well— and  what  if  that  monstrous  thing  had  re- 
mained monstrous?  And  it  has  remained  so;  you 
know  it  has." 

"  But  not  in  the  language — and  that  means  a 
great  deal!  But  I  did  not  make  our  nation;  I 
am  not  to  blame  if  it  is  fated  to  pass  through  such 

51 


SMOKE 

a  school.  '  The  Germans  were  developed  regu- 
larly,' cry  the  Slavophils:  '  give  us  regular  devel- 
opment also! '  But  where  is  one  to  get  it  when 
the  very  first  historical  action  of  our  tribe— sum- 
moning to  themselves  princes  from  over-sea — is 
an  irregularity  to  start  with,  an  anomaly  which 
is  repeated  in  every  one  of  us,  down  to  the  present 
day ;  every  one  of  us,  at  least  once  in  his  life,  has 
infallibly  said  to  something  foreign,  non-Russian : 
'  Come,  exercise  authority  and  reign  over  me! ' — 
I  am  ready,  if  you  like,  to  admit  that,  when  we 
introduce  a  foreign  substance  into  our  own  body, 
we  cannot,  by  any  means,  know  with  certainty 
beforehand  what  it  is  we  are  introducing :  a  bit  of 
bread  or  a  bit  of  poison;  for,  assuredly,  it  is  a 
familiar  fact  that  you  never  pass  from  bad  to 
good  through  better,  but  always  through  worse — 
and  poison  is  useful  in  medicine.  Only  dolts  or 
sharpers  can  decently  point  with  triumph  at  the 
poverty  of  the  peasants  after  the  Emancipation, 
at  their  increased  drunkenness  after  the  abroga- 
tion of  the  liquor  monopoly.  .  .  .  Through  worse 

to  good!  " 

Potugin  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 

"  You  asked  me  my  opinion  concerning  Eu- 
rope," he  began  again:  —  "  I  am  amazed  at  it  and 
devoted  to  its  principles  to  the  last  degree,  and 
do  not  consider  it  necessary  to  conceal  the  fact. 
For  a  long  time  .  .  no,  not  for  a  long  time  .  . 
for  some  time  past  I  have  ceased  to  be  afraid  to 

52 


SMOKE 

give  utterance  to  my  convictions  .  .  .  even  you, 
you  see,  did  not  hesitate  to  announce  to  Guba- 
ryoff  your  mode  of  thought.  I,  thank  God,  have 
ceased  to  conform  to  the  ideas,  the  views,  the 
habits  of  the  man  with  whom  I  am  conversing. 
In  reality,  I  know  of  nothing  worse  than  that 
useless  cowardice,  that  base-spirited  willingness 
to  please  by  virtue  of  which,  as  you  see,  one  of 
our  grave  dignitaries  humours  some  little  student 
who  is  of  no  account  in  his  eyes,  almost  sports 
with  him,  runs  after  him  like  a  hare.  Well,  let 
us  assume  that  the  dignitary  behaves  in  this  man- 
ner out  of  a  desire  for  popularity;  but  why 
should  plebeians  like  me  shift  and  shuffle?  Yes, 
sir,  yes,  sir,  I  am  an  Occidentalist,  I  am  devoted 
to  Europe— that  is,  to  speak  more  accurately,  I 
am  devoted  to  culture,  to  that  same  culture  at 
which  people  so  charmingly  jeer  nowadays  in  our 
country,— to  civilisation— yes,  yes,  that  word  is 
even  better,  and  I  love  it  with  all  my  heart,  and  I 
believe  in  it,  and  I  have  not  and  never  shall  have 
any  other  faith.  That 's  the  word :  ci .  .  .  vi .  .  .  li- 
.  .  .  sa  .  .  .  tion  "  (Potugin  pronounced  each  syl- 
lable distinctly  with  emphasis)  ;  "it  is  intelligi- 
ble, and  pure,  and  holy,  but  all  the  others, 
whether  it  be  nationality,  or  glory,  smell  of 
blood.  .  .  I  want  nothing  to  do  with  them!1 

"  Well,  but,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  you  love  Russia, 
your  native  land  ? ' 

Potugin  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 

53 


SMOKE 

"  I  love  it  passionately,  and  I  hate  it  passion- 
ately." 

Litvinoff  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That 's  old,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  that 's  a  com- 
monplace." 

"Well,  what  of  that?  What 's  the  harm?  A 
pretty  thing  to  take  fright  at! — A  commonplace! 
I  know  many  fine  commonplaces !  Here  now,  for 
example:  liberty  and  order — that's  a  familiar 
commonplace.  Is  it  better,  in  your  opinion,  to 
have,  as  with  us,  servility  and  disorder?  And, 
moreover,  are  all  those  phrases  wherewith  so  many 
young  heads  become  intoxicated:  the  despised 
bourgeoisie,  souverainete  du  peuple,  the  right  to 
labor,— are  not  they  also  commonplaces?  And 
how  about  love,  inseparable  from  hatred?  .  ." 

"  Byronism,"  interrupted  Litvinoff: — "ro- 
manticism of  the  '30 's." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  excuse  me;  Catullus,  the 
Roman  poet  Catullus,  was  the  first  to  point  out 
that  blending  of  sentiments,  two  thousand  years 
ago.1  I  learned  that  by  reading  him,  because 
I  know  something  of  Latin,  in  consequence  of  my 
ecclesiastical  extraction,  if  I  may  venture  so  to 
express  myself.  Yes,  sir,  I  both  love  and  hate  my 
Russia,  my  strange,  dear,  dreadful,  beloved  fa- 
therland. Now  I  have  abandoned  it;  I  had  to 
air  myself  a  bit,  after  sitting  for  twelve  years  at 

lOdi  et  amo.     Quare  id  faciam,  fortasse,  requiris? 
Nescio:  sed  fieri  sentio  et  excrucior. 


Catullus,  LXXXVI. 


54 


SMOKE 

a  government  desk,  in  a  government  building;  I 
have  abandoned  Russia,  and  I  find  it  agreeable 
and  jolly  here;  but  I  shall  soon  return,  I  feel  it. 
Garden  soil  is  good— but  cloudberries  will  not 
grow  on  it!  " 

"  You  find  it  pleasant  and  jolly,  and  I  am  at 
ease  here,"  said  Litvinoff. — "  And  I  came  hither 
to  study;  but  that  does  not  prevent  my  seeing 
such  little  pranks  as  that.  .  ."  He  pointed  to  two 
passing  courtesans,  around  whom  several  mem- 
bers of  the  Jockey  Club  were  grimacing  and  lisp- 
ing, and  at  the  gambling-hall,  which  was  packed 
full,  in  spite  of  the  late  hour. 

'  But  who  told  you  that  I  was  blind  to  that? ' 
retorted  Potugin. — "  Only,  pardon  me,  but  your 
remark  reminds  me  of  the  triumphant  way  our 
unhappy  journalists  had  of  pointing,  during  the 
Crimean  campaign,  to  the  defects  of  the  English 
militarv  administration,  revealed  in  the  Times.  I 
am  not  an  optimist  myself,  and  everything  that 
pertains  to  man,  all  our  life,  that  entire  comedy 
with  a  tragic  ending,  does  not  present  itself  to  me 
in  a  rosy  light ;  but  why  tax  the  Occident,  in  par- 
ticular, with  that  which,  possibly,  has  its  root  in 
our  human  essence  itself?  That  gambling-house 
is  repulsive,  it  is  true ;  well,  but  is  our  home-bred 
knavery,  perchance,  any  the  more  beautiful?  No, 
my  dear  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  let  us  be  more 
humble  and  more  quiet;  a  good  pupil  perceives 
the  errors  of  his  teacher,  but  he  respectfully  holds 

55 


SMOKE 

his  peace  about  them;  for  those  very  errors  are 
of  service  to  him,  and  direct  him  in  the  right  way. 
But  if  you  insist  upon  gossiping  about  the  rotten 
West,  here  comes  Prince  Koko  at  a  jog-trot;  he 
has,  probably,  dropped  at  the  gaming-table  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  the  toil-won,  extorted  quit- 
rents  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  families,  his  nerves 
are  unstrung,  and,  moreover,  I  saw  him  to-day  at 
Marks's,  turning  over  the  pages  of  Veuillot's 
pamphlet.  .  He  '11  be  a  capital  companion  for 
you! 

"  But  pardon  me,  pardon  me,"  said  Litvinoff 
hastily,  perceiving  that  Potiigin  was  rising  from 
his  seat. — "  My  acquaintance  with  Prince  Koko 
is  very  slight,  and  then,  of  course,  I  prefer  con- 
versation with  you.  .  ." 

"  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  you,"  said  Potugin, 
rising  and  bowing  his  farewell; — "but  I  have 
been  conversing  with  you  a  pretty  long  time  as  it 
is— that  is,  strictly  speaking,  I  have  been  doing  all 
the  talking  myself,  while  you,  probably,  have  ob- 
served from  your  own  experience  that  a  man  al- 
ways feels  conscience-stricken  somehow  and  un- 
comfortable when  he  has  been  talking  a  great  deal 
—all  alone.  Especially  so  when  it  happens  at  a 
first  meeting:  as  much  as  to  say,  ■  Look  at  me, 
that 's  the  sort  of  man  I  am ! '  Farewell  until  our 
next  pleasant  meeting.  .  .  And  I,  I  repeat  it, 
am  very  glad  at  having  made  your  acquaintance." 

"  But  wait  a  bit,  Sozont  Ivanitch ;  tell  me,  at 

56 


SMOKE 

least,  where  you  are  living,  and  whether  you  in- 
tend to  remain  here  long." 

Potugin  seemed  to  wince  a  little. 

1 1  shall  remain  about  a  week  longer  in  Baden, 
but  we  can  meet  each  other  here,  or  at  Weber's, 
or  at  Marks's.    Or  I  will  go  to  you." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  must  know  your  address." 

"  Yes.    But  this  is  the  point:  I  am  not  alone." 

:  You  are  married?  "  asked  Litvinoff  abruptly. 

"  Good  gracious,  no.  .  .  Why  talk  so  ab- 
surdly? .  .  But  I  have  a  young  girl  with  me." 

'  Ah!  "  ejaculated  Litvinoff,  with  a  shrug,  as 
though  apologising,  and  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  She  is  only  six  years  old,"  went  on  Potugin. 
— "  She  is  an  orphan,  .  .  the  daughter  of  a  lady 
.  .  of  one  of  my  good  friends.  Really,  we  had 
better  meet  here.    Good-bye,  sir." 

He  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  curly  head  and 
walked  rapidly  away,  appearing  for  an  instant 
a  couple  of  times  under  the  gas-jets,  which  cast 
a  rather  scanty  light  upon  the  road  which  led  to 
Lichtenthal  Avenue. 


m 


VI 

"  A  strange  man!"  said  Litvinoff  to  himself,  as 
he  wended  his  way  to  the  hotel  where  he  was  stop- 
ping: "a  strange  man!  I  must  hunt  him  up." 
He  entered  his  room ;  a  letter  on  the  table  caught 
his  eye.  "Ah!  from  Tanya!"  he  thought,  and 
rejoiced  in  advance;  but  the  letter  was  from  his 
father  in  the  country.  Litvinoff  broke  the  large 
heraldic  seal  and  was  about  to  begin  reading.  .  A 
powerful,  very  agreeable,  and  familiar  odour  at- 
tracted his  attention.  He  glanced  about  him,  and 
perceived  on  the  window-sill,  in  a  glass  of  water, 
a  large  bouquet  of  fresh  heliotropes.  Litvinoff 
bent  over  them,  not  without  surprise,  touched 
them,  smelled  them.  .  .  Some  memory  seemed  to 
recur  to  him,  something  very  remote,  .  .  but  pre- 
cisely what  he  could  not  imagine.  He  rang  for 
a  servant  and  asked  him  whence  the  flowers  had 
come.  The  servant  replied  that  they  had  been 
brought  by  a  lady,  who  would  not  give  her  name, 
but  had  said  that  he,  "  Herr  Zluitenhoff,"  would 
be  sure  to  divine  who  she  was  from  the  flowers 
themselves.  .  .  Again  Litvinoff  caught  a  glimpse 
of  some  memory.  .  .  He  asked  the  servant  what 
was  the  appearance  of  the  lady  ?    The  servant  ex- 

58 


SMOKE 

plained  that  she  was  tall  and  very  well  dressed, 
but  wore  a  veil  over  her  face. 

"  Probably  a  Russian  Countess,"  he  added. 

"  Why  do  you  assume  that? "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  She  gave  me  two  gulden,"  replied  the  servant, 
with  a  grin. 

Litvinoff  sent  him  away,  and  for  a  long  time 
thereafter  stood  before  the  window  immersed  in 
thought ;  but  at  last  he  waved  his  hand  in  despair, 
and  again  took  up  the  letter  from  the  country. 
In  it  his  father  poured  forth  his  habitual  com- 
plaints, asserted  that  no  one  would  take  the  grain 
even  as  a  gift,  that  the  people  had  grown  utterly 
unruly,  and  that,  in  all  probability,  the  end  of  the 
world  was  at  hand.  "  Just  imagine,"  he  wrote, 
by  the  way,  "  my  last  coachman,  that  little  Kal- 
myk, you  remember?  has  been  bewitched,  and  the 
man  would  infallibly  have  perished  and  there 
would  have  been  no  one  to  drive  me,  but,  luckily, 
some  kind  people  gave  me  a  hint  and  advised  me 
to  send  the  sick  man  off  to  Ryazan,  to  a  priest  who 
is  a  well-known  expert  in  dealing  with  spells ;  and 
the  treatment  actually  succeeded  to  perfection,  in 
confirmation  whereof  I  enclose  the  letter  of  the 
father  himself,  by  way  of  document."  Litvinoff 
ran  his  eye  over  this  "  document  "  with  curiosity. 
It  contained  the  statement  that  "  the  house- 
servant,  Nikanor  Dmitrieff,  was  afflicted  with  a 
malady  which  medical  science  could  not  reach; 

59 


SMOKE 

and  this  malady  was  caused  by  malevolent  per- 
sons ;  but  the  cause  of  it  was  Nikanor  himself,  for 
he  had  not  fulfilled  his  promise  to  a  certain 
maiden,  hence  she,  through  these  persons,  had  ren- 
dered him  unfit  for  anything,  and  if  I  had  not 
been  his  helper,  under  these  circumstances  he  must 
have  perished  utterly,  like  a  cabbage-worm ;  but  I, 
trusting  in  the  All-seeing  Eye,  constituted  my- 
self his  prop  in  life ;  and  how  I  accomplished  this 
is  a  secret;  and  I  request  Your  Weil-Born  that 
henceforth  that  maiden  may  not  occupy  herself 
with  those  evil  attributes,  and  it  would  even  do  no 
harm  to  threaten  her,  otherwise  she  may  exercise 
a  maleficent  influence  over  him  again."  Litvinoff 
fell  into  thought  over  this  document;  it  exhaled 
upon  him  a  breath  of  the  wilds  of  the  steppe,  the 
impassive  gloom  of  stagnating  life,  and  it  seemed 
marvellous  to  him  that  he  should  have  read  that 
letter  precisely  in  Baden.  In  the  meantime,  mid- 
night had  long  since  struck;  Litvinoff  went  to 
bed  and  blew  out  his  candle.  But  he  could  not 
get  to  sleep;  the  faces  he  had  seen,  the  speeches 
he  had  heard,  kept  whirling  and  circling, 
strangely  interweaving  and  mixing  themselves  in 
his  burning  head,  which  was  aching  with  the 
tobacco-smoke.  Now  he  seemed  to  hear  Gu- 
baryoff's  bellow,  and  his  downcast  eyes,  with 
their  stupid,  obstinate  gaze,  presented  them- 
selves; then,  all  of  a  sudden,  those  same  eyes 
began    to    blaze    and    leap,    and    he    recognised 

60 


SMOKE 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  heard  her  sharp  voice, 
and,  involuntarily,  in  a  whisper,  repeated  after 
her:  "She  did  slap  his  face,  she  did!'  then 
the  shambling  figure  of  Potiigin  moved  for- 
ward before  him,  and  for  the  tenth,  the  twentieth 
time,  he  recalled  his  every  word ;  then,  like  a  pup- 
pet from  a  snuff-box,  Voroshiloff  sprang  for- 
ward in  his  brand-new  paletot,  which  fitted  him 
like  a  new  uniform,  and  Pishtchalkin  wisely  and 
gravely  nodded  his  capitally-barbered  and  really 
well-intentioned  head ;  and  Bindasoff  bawled  and 
reviled,  and  Bambaeff  went  into  tearful  raptures. 
.  .  .  But  the  chief  thing  was :  that  perfume,  that 
importunate,  insistent,  sweet,  heavy  perfume, 
gave  him  no  rest,  and  was  exhaled  with  ever- 
increasing  power  in  the  darkness,  and  ever  more 
persistently  reminded  him  of  something  which  he 
vainly  endeavoured  to  grasp.  .  .  It  occurred  to 
Litvinoff  that  the  odour  of  flowers  was  injurious 
to  the  health  at  night  in  a  bed-chamber,  and  he 
rose,  felt  his  way  to  the  bouquet,  and  carried  it 
out  into  the  adjoining  room;  but  the  insufferable 
fragrance  penetrated  to  his  pillow,  under  his  cov- 
erlet, even  from  that  point,  and  he  tossed  sadly 
from  side  to  side.  Fever  was  beginning  to  lay 
hold  upon  him;  the  priest,  "the  expert  in  deal- 
ing with  spells,"  had  already  twice  run  across 
his  path  in  the  shape  of  a  very  nimble  hare  with 
a  beard,  and  Voroshiloff,  squatting  in  a  Gen- 
eral's plume,  as  in  a  bush,  was  beginning  to  trill 

61 


SMOKE 

like  a  nightingale  before  him  .  .  .  when,  all 
of  a  sudden,  he  sat  up  in  bed,  and  clasping  his 
hands,  exclaimed :  "  Is  it  possible  that  it  is  she? 
It  cannot  be !  " 

But  in  order  to  explain  this  exclamation  of  Lit- 
vinoff,  we  must  ask  the  indulgent  reader  to  go 
back  several  years  with  us. 


62 


VII 

At  the  beginning  of  the  '50's  there  resided  in 
Moscow,  in  very  straitened  circumstances,  almost 
in  poverty,  the  numerous  family  of  the  Princes 
Osinin.  They  were  genuine,  not  Tatar-Geor- 
gian, but  pure-blooded  princes,  descendants  of 
Rurik;  their  name  is  frequently  met  with  in  our 
Chronicles  under  the  first  Grand  Princes  of  Mos- 
cow, the  collectors  of  the  Russian  land ;  they  pos- 
sessed extensive  patrimonial  estates  and  domains, 
had  been  repeatedly  rewarded  for  "  toils,  and 
blood,  and  wounds,"  had  sat  in  the  Council  of  the 
boyars;  one  of  them  even  wrote  his  name  with 

'  vitch  "  ;  *  but  had  fallen  into  disgrace  through 
the  conspiracy  of  enemies  for  "  witchcraft  and 
knowledge  of  roots  " ;  they  were  ruined  "  terribly 
and  completely" ;  they  were  deprived  of  their  hon- 
ours, and  banished  to  parts  remote;  the  Osinins 
crumbled  away,  and  never  recovered  themselves, 
never  again  attained  to  power ;  the  decree  of  ban- 
ishment was  removed  from  them,  in  course  of 
time,  and  their  "  Moscow  homestead  "  and  their 

'  chattels  "  were  even  restored  to  them,  but  noth- 
ing was  of  any  avail.    Their  race  had  become  im- 

i  Formerly  a  sign  of  blood-royal. — Tbanslatoe. 

G3 


SMOKE 

poverished,  had  "  withered  away  " — it  did  not  rise 
either  under  Peter  or  under  Katherine,  and  be- 
coming constantly  more  insignificant  and  re- 
duced, it  counted  among  its  members  private 
stewards,  managers  of  liquor  counting-houses, 
and  police-captains.  The  family  of  the  Osinins 
to  which  we  have  alluded  consisted  of  husband, 
wife  and  five  children.  They  lived  near  the  Dogs' 
Square,  in  a  tiny,  one-story  wooden  house,  with  a 
striped  principal  porch  opening  on  the  street, 
green  lions  on  the  gates,  and  other  devices  apper- 
taining to  the  nobility,  and  barely  made  the  two 
ends  meet,  running  into  debt  at  the  greengrocer's 
shop,  and  frequently  going  without  fuel  and 
lights  in  winter.  The  Prince  himself  was  an  in- 
dolent, rather  stupid  man,  who  had,  once  upon  a 
time,  been  a  handsome  man  and  a  dandy,  but  had 
utterly  gone  to  pieces ;  not  so  much  out  of  respect 
for  his  name,  as  out  of  courtesy  to  his  wife,  who 
had  been  a  Maid  of  Honour  at  Court,  he  had 
been  given  one  of  the  ancient  Moscow  posts  with 
a  small  salary,  a  difficult  title,  and  no  work  what- 
ever; he  never  meddled  with  anything,  and  did 
nothing  but  smoke  from  morning  till  night,  never 
abandoning  his  dressing-gown,  and  sighing  heav- 
ily. His  wife  was  a  sickly  and  peevish  woman, 
perpetually  worried  over  domestic  troubles,  with 
getting  her  children  placed  in  government  insti- 
tutions for  education,  and  with  keeping  up  her 
connections  in  St.  Petersburg;  she  never  could 

64 


SMOKE 

get  reconciled  to  her  position  and  expatriation 
from  the  Court. 

Litvinoff's  father,  during  his  sojourn  in  Mos- 
cow, had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Osinins, 
had  had  an  opportunity  to  render  them  several 
services,  had  once  lent  them  three  hundred  rubles ; 
and  his  son,  in  his  student  days,  had  frequently 
called  to  inquire  after  their  health,  as  his  lodgings 
chanced  to  be  situated  not  very  far  from  their 
house.  But  it  was  not  the  close  vicinity  which  at- 
tracted him,  neither  did  the  wretched  comforts  of 
their  mode  of  life  allure  him:  he  began  to  visit 
the  Osinins  frequently  from  the  moment  when  he 
fell  in  love  with  their  eldest  daughter,  Irfna. 

At  that  time  she  had  just  passed  her  seven- 
teenth birthday;  she  had  just  left  the  Institute, 
from  which  her  mother  had  taken  her,  on  account 
of  a  quarrel  with  the  directress.  The  quarrel  had 
arisen  from  the  circumstance  that  Irfna  was  to 
have  delivered  the  verses  of  greeting  to  the  Cura- 
tor at  the  commencement  in  the  French  language, 
and  just  before  the  ceremony  another  girl,  the 
daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  government  monopo- 
list, had  been  substituted  for  her.  The  Princess- 
mother  could  not  digest  this  affront;  and  Irina 
herself  could  not  forgive  the  directress  for  her 
injustice;  she  had  been  dreaming  in  advance  how, 
in  the  sight  of  every  one,  attracting  universal  at- 
tention, she  would  declaim  her  speech,  and  how 
Moscow  would  talk  about  her  afterward.  .  .  And, 

65 


SMOKE 

in  fact,  Moscow  probably  would  have  talked  about 
Irma.  She  was  a  tall,  slender  girl,  with  a  some- 
what sunken  chest  and  narrow,  youthful  shoul- 
ders, with  a  palely-opaque  skin  rare  at  her  age,  as 
pure  and  smooth  as  porcelain,  and  thick,  blond 
hair,  wherein  dark  locks  were  intermingled  with 
the  blond  ones  in  an  original  manner.  Her  fea- 
tures, elegantly,  almost  exquisitely  regular,  had 
not  yet  lost  that  innocent  expression  which  is  pe- 
culiar to  early  youth ;  but  in  the  slow  inclinations 
of  her  beautiful  neck,  in  her  smile,  which,  not  ex- 
actly abstracted,  nor  yet  exactly  languid,  denoted 
the  nervous  young  gentlewoman,  and  in  the  very 
outline  of  those  thin,  barely  smiling  lips,  of  that 
small,  aquiline,  somewhat  compressed  nose,  there 
was  something  wilful  and  passionate,  something 
dangerous  both  for  others  and  for  herself.  Her 
eyes  were  astounding,  truly  astounding,  of  a 
blackish-grey,  with  green  lights,  languishing, 
long  as  those  of  Egyptian  divinities,  with  radiant 
eyelashes,  and  a  bold  sweep  of  eyebrows.  There 
was  a  strange  expression  in  those  eyes:  they 
seemed  to  be  gazing,  gazing  attentively  and 
thoughtfully,  from  out  of  some  unknown  depths 
and  distance.  In  the  Institute  Irina  had  borne  the 
reputation  of  being  one  of  the  best  scholars  as  to 
mind  and  capacities,  but  with  an  unstable,  am- 
bitious character,  and  a  mischievous  head ;  one  of 
the  teachers  had  predicted  to  her  that  her  passions 
would  ruin  her— "Vos  passions  vous  perdront"; 

66 


SMOKE 

on  the  other  hand,  another  teacher  had  persecuted 
her  because  of  her  coldness  and  lack  of  feeling, 
and  called  her  "  une  jeune  fille  sans  coeur" 
Irina's  companions  thought  her  proud  and  deceit- 
ful, her  brothers  and  sisters  were  afraid  of  her,  her 
mother  did  not  trust  her,  and  her  father  felt  un- 
easy when  she  fixed  her  mysterious  eyes  upon  him ; 
but  she  inspired  both  father  and  mother  with  a 
sentiment  of  involuntary  respect,  not  by  virtue  of 
her  qualities,  but  by  virtue  of  the  peculiar,  indis- 
tinct expectations  which  she  aroused  in  them,  God 
knows  why. 

"  You  will  see,  Praskovya  Danilovna,"  said 
the  old  Prince  one  day,  taking  his  pipe-stem  out 
of  his  mouth:— "  Arinka  will  extricate  us  from 
our  difficulties  yet." 

The  Princess  flew  into  a  rage,  and  told  her  hus- 
band that  he  used  "  expressions  insup portables" 
but  thought  better  of  it  afterward,  and  repeated, 
between  her  teeth:  "  Yes  .  .  .  and  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  if  she  did  extricate  us," 

Irina  enjoyed  almost  unbounded  freedom  in 
the  parental  abode ;  they  did  not  pet  her,  they  even 
held  rather  aloof  from  her,  but  they  did  not  op- 
pose her:  that  was  all  she  wanted.  ...  It  some- 
times happened  when  there  was  some  quite  too 
humiliating  scene — when  a  shopkeeper  would 
come  and  yell,  so  that  the  whole  house  could  hear 
him,  that  he  was  tired  of  haunting  them  for  his 
money,  or  when  their  servants,  whom  they  owned, 

67 


SMOKE 

took  to  abusing  their  masters  to  their  face,  say- 
ing, "  A  pretty  sort  of  princes  you  are,  with  not 
a  copper  in  your  purse  to  keep  from  starving  " — 
that  Irina  would  never  move  a  muscle,  but  would 
sit  motionless,  with  a  malign  smile  on  her  gloomy 
face;  and  that  smile  alone  was  more  bitter  to  her 
parents  than  all  reproaches,  and  they  felt  them- 
selves guilty,  innocently  guilty,  in  the  presence  of 
that  being,  who  seemed,  from  her  very  birth,  to 
have  been  endowed  with  the  right  to  wealth,  to 
luxury,  to  adoration. 

Litvinoff  fell  in  love  with  Irina  as  soon  as  he 
saw  her  (he  was  only  three  years  older  than  she) , 
but  for  a  long  time  he  could  not  win  reciprocity 
or  even  attention.  Upon  her  treatment  of  him 
there  lay  the  imprint  even  of  a  certain  hostility; 
it  was  exactly  as  though  he  had  offended  her  and 
she  were  profoundly  concealing  the  offence,  but 
were  unable  to  forgive  him.  He  was  too  young 
and  modest  at  that  time  to  understand  what  might 
be  concealed  beneath  this  hostile,  almost  scornful 
harshness.  There  were  times  when,  oblivious  of 
lectures  and  note-books,  he  would  sit  in  the  Osi- 
nins'  cheerless  drawing-room, — sit  and  stare  cov- 
ertly at  Irina :  his  heart  pined  slowly  and  bitterly 
away  within  him  and  oppressed  his  breast;  but 
she,  as  though  she  were  angry  or  bored,  would 
rise,  pace  up  and  down  the  room,  gaze  coldly  at 
him,  as  at  a  table  or  a  chair,  shrug  her  shoulders, 
and  fold  her  arms ;  or,  during  the  whole  course  of 

68 


SMOKE 

the  evening,  she  would  deliberately  refrain  from 
glancing  at  Litvinoff  a  single  time,  even  when 
talking  with  him,  as  though  refusing  him  even 
that  alms;  or,  in  conclusion,  she  would  take  up  a 
book  and  rivet  her  eyes  upon  it,  without  reading, 
frown  and  bite  her  lips,  or  would  suddenly  inquire 
of  her  father  or  brother:  what  was  the  German 
word  for  patience? 

He  tried  to  tear  himself  away  from  the 
enchanted  circle,  in  which  he  incessantly  suf- 
fered torment  and  struggled,  like  a  bird  which 
has  fallen  into  a  trap;  he  absented  himself  from 
Moscow  for  a  week.  After  nearly  losing  his  mind 
with  grief  and  irksomeness,  he  returned  to  the 
Osinins,  all  haggard  and  ill.  .  .  And,  strange  to 
say,  Irina  also  had  grown  emaciated  during  those 
days,  her  face  had  turned  yellow,  her  cheeks  were 
sunken;  .  .  .  but  she  greeted  him  with  greater 
coldness  than  ever,  with  almost  malevolent  scorn, 
as  though  he  had  still  further  aggravated  that 
mysterious  grievance  which  he  had  dealt  her.  .  . 

She  tortured  him  in  this  manner  for  two 
months;  then  one  day  everything  underwent  a 
change.  It  was  as  though  she  had  broken  out  in 
conflagration,  as  though  love  had  swooped  down 
upon  her  like  a  thunder-cloud.  One  day— he  long 
remembered  that  day— he  was  again  sitting  in  the 
Osinins'  drawing-room,  at  the  window,  and  irrele- 
vantly staring  into  the  street,  and  he  was  feeling 
vexed  and  bored  and  despised  himself,  and  yet  he 

69 


SMOKE 

could  not  stir  from  the  spot. . .  It  seemed  to  him  as 
though,  if  a  river  were  flowing  just  there,  beneath 
the  window,  he  would  hurl  her  into  it  with  terror, 
but  without  compunction.  Irina  had  placed  her- 
self not  far  from  him,  maintained  a  rather  singu- 
lar silence,  and  remained  motionless.  For  several 
days  past  she  had  not  spoken  to  him  at  all,  and 
indeed  she  had  not  spoken  to  any  one;  she  sat  on 
and  on,  propped  up  on  her  arms,  as  though  she 
found  herself  perplexed,  and  only  from  time  to 
time  did  she  cast  a  slow  glance  around  her. 

This  cold  torment  became,  at  last,  more  than 
Litvinoff  could  endure ;  he  rose,  and,  without  tak- 
ing leave,  began  to  look  for  his  hat.  "  Wait,"  a 
soft  whisper  sudfdenly  made  itself  heard.  Lit- 
vinoff's  heart  quivered ;  he  did  not  at  once  recog- 
nise Irina's  voice:  something  unprecedented  re- 
sounded in  that  single  word.  He  raised  his  head 
and  stood  petrified:  Irina  was  gazing  at  him 
affectionately— yes,  affectionately.  Compre- 
hending nothing,  not  fully  conscious  of  what 
he  was  doing,  he  approached  her  and  stretched 
out  his  hands.  .  .  She  immediately  gave  him 
both  of  hers,  then  smiled,  flushed  all  over, 
turned  away,  and  without  ceasing  to  smile,  she 
left  the  room.  ...  A  few  minutes  later  she 
returned  in  company  with  her  younger  sister, 
again  looked  at  him  with  the  same  gentle  glance, 
and  made  him  sit  down  beside  her.  .  .  At  first 
she  could  say  nothing:  she  merely  sighed  and 

70 


SMOKE 

blushed ;  then  she  began,  as  though  overcome  with 
timidity,  to  question  him  concerning  his  occupa- 
tions, something  which  she  had  never  done  before. 
On  the  evening  of  that  same  day  she  several  times 
endeavoured  to  excuse  herself  to  him  for  not  hav- 
ing known  how  to  appreciate  him  up  to  that  mo- 
ment, assured  him  that  she  had  now  become  an 
entirely  different  person,  amazed  him  by  an  un- 
expected republican  sally  (at  that  time  he  wor- 
shipped Robespierre,  and  dared  not  condemn 
Marat  aloud),  but  a  week  later  he  had  already 
discovered  that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him. 
Yes ;  he  long  remembered  that  first  day ;  .  .  .  but 
he  did  not  forget  the  following  ones,  either, — 
those  days  when,  still  striving  to  doubt,  and 
afraid  to  believe,  he  clearly  perceived,  with 
tremors  of  rapture,  almost  of  terror,  how  this 
unexpected  happiness  was  engendered,  grew  and, 
irresistibly  sweeping  everything  before  it,  at  last 
fairly  submerged  him. 

The  luminous  moments  of  first  love  ensued — 
moments  which  are  not  fated  to  be,  and  should 
not  be,  repeated  in  one  and  the  same  life.  Irina 
suddenly  became  as  tame  as  a  lamb,  as  soft  as  silk, 
and  infinitely  kind ;  she  undertook  to  give  lessons 
to  her  younger  sisters, — not  on  the  piano, — she 
was  not  a  musician, — but  in  the  French  and 
English  languages;  she  read  with  them  from  their 
text-books,  she  took  part  in  the  housekeeping; 
everything  amused  her,  everything  interested  her; 

71 


SMOKE 

now  she  chattered  incessantly,  again  she  became 
immersed  in  dumb  emotion ;  she  concocted  various 
plans,  she  entered  into  interminable  speculations 
as  to  what  she  would  do  when  she  married  Litvi- 
noff  (they  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  their 
marriage  would  take  place),  what  they  would  do 
together.  .  .  "Work?'  suggested  Litvinoff.  . 
"  Yes,  work,"  repeated  Irina:  "  read  .  .  .  but, 
principally,  travel."  She  was  particularly  desir- 
ous of  quitting  Moscow  as  speedily  as  possible, 
and  when  Litvinoff  represented  to  her  that  he  had 
not  yet  completed  his  course  in  the  university, 
on  each  such  occasion,  after  meditating  a  little, 
she  replied  that  he  might  finish  his  studies  in  Ber- 
lin, or  .  .  .  somewhere  there.  Irina  put  little 
constraint  upon  herself  in  the  expression  of  her 
feelings,  and,  therefore,  her  affection  for  Litvi- 
noff did  not  long  remain  a  secret  to  the  Prince 
and  Princess.  They  were  not  precisely  delighted, 
but,  taking  all  the  circumstances  into  considera- 
tion, they  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  impose 
their  veto  immediately.    Litvinoff 's  property  was 

considerable "  But  family,  family! .  .  ." 

remarked  the  Princess.  "  Well,  of  course,  fam- 
ily," replied  the  Prince;  "  but,  at  all  events,  he  's 
not  a  plebeian,  and  that 's  the  chief  thing ;  for 
Irina  will  not  listen  to  us.  Was  there  ever  a  case 
when  she  did  not  do  as  she  pleased?  Vous  con- 
naissez  sa  violence!  Moreover,  there  's  nothing 
definite  as  yet."    Thus  reasoned  the  Prince,  and 

72 


SMOKE 

yet,  on  the  instant,  added  mentally:  "Madame 
Litvinoff — nothing  more?  I  expected  something 
else." 

Irina  took  complete  possession  of  her  future 
betrothed,  and  he  himself  willingly  gave  him- 
self into  her  hands.  He  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  a  whirlpool,  to  have  lost  himself.  .  .  And  he 
found  it  painful  and  sweet,  and  he  regretted  noth- 
ing and  kept  back  nothing.  He  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  reflect  upon  the  significance,  the 
duties  of  wedlock,  or  whether  he,  so  irrevocably 
submissive,  would  make  a  good  husband,  and  what 
sort  of  a  wife  Irina  would  turn  out  to  be ;  his  blood 
was  on  fire  and  he  knew  one  thing  only:  to  go 
after  her,  with  her,  onward  and  without  end,  and 
then  let  that  happen  which  might!  But,  despite 
the  absence  of  all  opposition  on  the  part  of  Litvi- 
noff to  the  superabundance  of  impulsive  tender- 
ness on  the  part  of  Irina,  matters  did  not  progress 
without  several  misunderstandings  and  clashes. 
One  day  he  ran  in  to  see  her  straight  from  the 
university,  in  his  old  coat,  with  his  hands  stained 
with  ink.  She  rushed  to  meet  him  with  her  cus- 
tomary affectionate  greeting,  and  suddenly  came 
to  a  halt: 

;  You  have  no  gloves,"  she  said  slowly,  with 
pauses,  and  instantly  added : — "Fie!  what  a  .  .  . 
student  .  .  .  you  are!" 

You  are  too  impressionable,  Irina,"  remarked 
Litvinoff. 

78 


SMOKE 

"You  are  .  .  a  regular  student,"  she  repeated : 
— "  Vous  n  etes  pas  distingue." 

And  turning  her  back  on  him,  she  left  the  room. 
It  is  true  that,  an  hour  later,  she  entreated  him  to 
forgive  her.  .  .  On  the  whole,  she  willingly  pun- 
ished herself  and  asked  his  pardon ;  only,  strange 
to  say,  she  often,  almost  with  tears,  accused  her- 
self of  bad  motives  which  she  did  not  have,  and 
obstinately  denied  her  real  defects.  On  another 
occasion  he  found  her  in  tears,  with  her  head  rest- 
ing on  her  hands,  and  her  hair  falling  unbound; 
and  when,  thoroughly  disquieted,  he  questioned 
her  as  to  the  cause  of  her  grief,  she  silently  pointed 
her  finger  at  her  breast.  Litvinoff  involuntarily 
shuddered.  "  Consumption !  "  flashed  through  his 
mind,  and  he  seized  her  hand. 

v  Art  thou  ill?  "  he  ejaculated  with  a  quivering 
voice  (they  had  already  begun,  in  important  cases, 
to  call  each  other  "  thou  ") .— "  If  so,  I  will  go  at 
once  for  the  doctor  ..." 

But  Irina  did  not  allow  him  to  finish,  and 
stamped  her  little  foot  with  impatience. 

"  I  am  perfectly  well  .  .  but  it  is  this  gown 
.  .  .  don't  you  understand?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  .  .  this  gown  .  .  ."he 
ejaculated  in  surprise. 

"  What  do  I  mean?  Why,  that  I  have  no 
other,  and  that  it  is  old,  horrid,  and  that  I 
am  compelled  to  put  on  this  gown  every  day  .  . 
even  when  thou  .  .  even  when  you  come.  .  It 

74 


SMOKE 

will  end  in  thy  ceasing  to  love  me,  if  thou  seest 
me  so  slovenly." 

[  Good  heavens,  Irina,  what  art  thou  saying? 
Why,  this  gown  is  very  pretty.  .  .  And  it  is  dear 
to  me,  moreover,  because  I  saw  thee  in  it  for  the 
first  time." 

Irina  blushed. 

'  Please  do  not  remind  me,  Grigory  Mikha- 
ilovitch,  that  even  then  I  had  no  other  gown." 

"But  I  assure  you,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it  is 
charmingly  becoming  to  you." 

1  No,  it 's  horrid,  horrid,"  she  repeated,  tug- 
ging nervously  at  her  long,  soft  curls. — "  Okh, 
this  poverty,  poverty,  obscurity!  How  can  I  rid 
myself  of  this  poverty  ?  How  get  out,  get  out  of 
the  obscurity? " 

Litvinoff  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and 
slightly  turned  away. 

Suddenly  Irina  sprang  up  from  her  chair  and 
laid  both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

'  But,  surely,  thou  lovest  me?  Thou  lovest 
me? "  she  cried,  approaching  her  face  to  his,  and 
her  eyes,  still  filled  with  tears,  beamed  with  the 
joy  of  happiness.  — "  Thou  lovest  me  even  in  this 
horrid  gown?  " 

Litvinoff  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"  Akh,  love  me,  love  me,  my  dear  one,  my 
saviour,"  she  whispered,  bending  down  to  him. 

Thus  the  days  rushed  on,  the  weeks  elapsed,  and 
although  no  formal  explanation  had  as  yet  taken 

7S 


SMOKE 

place,  although  Litvinoff  still  delayed  his  de- 
mand, not,  of  course,  by  his  own  wish,  but  in 
expectation  of  a  command  from  Irina  (she  had 
happened  one  day  to  remark,  "  We  are  both  ridic- 
ulously young;  we  must  add  a  few  weeks  more 
to  our  age  ") ,  yet  everything  was  moving  onward 
to  a  conclusion,  and  the  immediate  future  was  be- 
coming more  and  more  clearly  defined,  when  sud- 
denly an  event  occurred  which  scattered  all  these 
surmises  and  plans  like  the  light  dust  of  the  high- 
way. 


76 


VIII 

That  winter  the  Court  visited  Moscow.  One  fes- 
tival followed  another;  then  came  the  turn  of  the 
customary  great  ball  in  the  Assembly  of  the  No- 
bility. The  news  of  this  ball,  it  is  true,  penetrated 
even  to  the  tiny  house  on  the  Dogs'  Square,  in  the 
shape  of  an  announcement  in  the  Police  News. 
The  Prince  was  the  first  to  take  the  initiative ;  he 
immediately  decided  that  it  was  indispensable 
that  they  should  go  and  take  Irina,  that  it  was 
unpardonable  to  miss  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
their  sovereigns,  that  the  ancient  nobility  were, 
in  a  manner,  bound  to  do  so.  He  insisted  on  his 
opinion  with  a  peculiar  warmth,  which  was  not 
characteristic  of  him;  the  Princess  agreed  with 
him  to  a  certain  extent,  and  only  sighed  over  the 
expense;  but  Irina  displayed  decided  opposition. 
"  It  is  unnecessary;  I  will  not  go,"  she  replied  to 
all  the  arguments  of  her  parents.  Her  obstinacy 
assumed  such  proportions  that  the  old  Prince  at 
last  decided  to  ask  Litvinoff  to  try  to  persuade 
her  by  representing  to  her,  among  the  other  "  rea- 
sons," that  it  was  improper  for  a  young  girl  to 
avoid  society,  that  it  was  proper  for  her  "  to  test 
that,"  that,  as  it  was,  no  one  ever  saw  her  any- 

77 


SMOKE 

where.  Litvinoff  undertook  to  present  these 
"  reasons '  to  her.  Irina  gazed  at  him  so  in- 
tently and  attentively  that  he  grew  confused,  and 
toying  with  the  ends  of  her  sash,  she  calmly 
said: 

"  You  desire  this?— you?  " 
Yes  ...  I  think  I  do,"  replied  Litvinoff 
faltering.  —  "  I  agree  with  your  father.  .  .  And 
why  should  not  you  go  ...  to  look  at  the  people 
and  to  show  yourself?  "  he  added,  with  a  curt 
laugh. 

*  To   show   myself,"    she   slowly   repeated. — 
'  Well,  very  good,  I  will  go.  .  .  Only,  remember, 
it  is  you  yourself  who  have  willed  it.  ." 

"  That  is  to  say,  I  .  .  ."  Litvinoff  tried  to 
begin. 

"  It  is  you  yourself  who  have  willed  it,"  she  in- 
terrupted.—  "And  there  is  one  more  condition: 
you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  not  be  present 
at  that  ball." 

"But  why?" 

"  I  wish  it." 

Litvinoff  flung  his  hands  apart. 

"  I  submit ;  .  .  but,  I  must  confess,  I  should  be 
very  happy  to  see  you  in  all  your  majesty,  to  be 
a  witness  of  the  impression  which  you  will  infal- 
libly produce.  .  How  proud  I  should  be  of  you ! ' 
he  added,  with  a  sigh. 

Irina  laughed. 

"All  that  magnificence  will  consist  of  a  white 

78 


SMOKE 

frock;  and  as  for  the  impression  .  .  .  well,  in 
short,  I  will  have  it  so." 

"  Irina,  you  seem  to  be  angry?  " 

Irina  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  no!  I  am  not  angry.  Only  thou  .  .  ." 
( She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  it  struck  him 
that  never  before  had  he  beheld  in  them  such  an 
expression.)  "Perhaps  it  is  necessary,"  she 
added  in  a  low  voice. 

"But,  Irina,  thou  lovest  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  love  thee,"  she  replied,  with  almost 
solemn  impressiveness,  and  shook  his  hand  in  mas- 
culine fashion. 

During  all  the  succeeding  days  Irina  sedu- 
lously occupied  herself  with  her  toilet,  with  her 
coiffure;  on  the  eve  of  the  ball  she  felt  indis- 
posed, could  not  sit  still  in  one  place,  fell  to  weep- 
ing a  couple  of  times  when  she  was  alone :  in  Lit- 
vinoff's  presence  she  smiled  in  a  monotonous  sort 
of  way  .  .  .  but  treated  him  tenderly,  as  before, 
yet  in  an  abstracted  manner,  and  kept  incessantly 
contemplating  herself  in  the  mirror.  On  the  day 
of  the  ball  she  was  extremely  taciturn  and  pale, 
but  composed.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening 
Litvinoff  came  to  take  a  look  at  her.  When  she 
came  out  to  him  in  her  white  tarlatan  frock,  with 
a  spray  of  small  blue  flowers  in  her  hair,  which 
was  dressed  rather  high,  he  simply  cried  out  in 
admiration :  she  seemed  to  him  beautiful  and  ma- 
jestic beyond  her  years.      ;  Yes,  she  has  grown 

79 


SMOKE 

taller  since  morning,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  and 
what  a  carriage!  What  a  thing  good  blood  is! ' 
Irina  stood  before  him  with  pendent  arms,  with- 
out smile  or  affectation,  and  gazed  with  decision, 
almost  with  boldness,  not  at  him,  but  at  some  point 
in  the  distance,  straight  in  front  of  her. 

"  You  are  like  a  fairy  princess,"  uttered  Litvi- 
noff  at  last; — "  or,  no:  you  are  like  the  leader  of 
an  army  before  a  victory.  .  .  You  have  not  per- 
mitted me  to  go  to  this  ball," — he  continued,  while 
she  remained  motionless,  as  before,  and  seemed 
not  so  much  to  be  listening  to  him  as  to  some  other 
inward  speech; — "  but  you  will  not  refuse  to  ac- 
cept from  me  these  flowers,  and  to  carry  them? ' 

He  gave  her  a  bouquet  of  heliotropes. 

She  cast  a  quick  glance  at  Litvinoff,  stretched 
out  her  hand,  and  suddenly  grasping  the  tips  of 
the  spray  which  adorned  her  head,  she  said: 

"  Do  you  wish  it?  Only  say  the  word,  and  I 
will  tear  off  all  this  and  remain  at  home." 

Litvinoff 's  heart  fairly  sang  with  joy.  Irina's 
hand  was  already  wrenching  off  the  spray.  .  . 

"  No,  no,  why  should  you?  "  he  said  hastily,  in 
a  burst  of  grateful  and  noble  sentiments; — "  I  am 
not  an  egoist;  why  should  I  restrict  your  liberty 
.  .  when  I  know  that  your  heart  ..." 

"Well,  then,  don't  come  near  me;  you  will 
crush  my  gown,"  she  said  hastily. 

Litvinoff  was  disconcerted. 

"  And  you  will  take  the  bouquet?  "  he  asked. 

80 


SMOKE 

'  Of  course ;  it  is  very  pretty,  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  that  perfume.  .  Merci.  .  I  will  preserve 
it  as  a  souvenir." 

1  Of  your  first  appearance  in  society,"  re- 
marked Litvinoff:— "  of  your  first  triumph.  .  ." 

Irina  contemplated  herself  in  the  mirror  over 
her  shoulder,  bending  her  body  a  little. 

'  And  am  I  really  so  pretty?  Are  not  you  a 
partial  judge?  " 

Litvinoff  grew  diffuse  in  enthusiastic  praises. 
But  Irina  was  no  longer  listening  to  him,  and 
lifting  the  bouquet  to  her  face,  she  again  began 
to  gaze  off  into  the  distance  with  her  strange 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  darken  and  widen,  and  the 
ends  of  the  delicate  ribbons,  set  in  motion  by  a 
light  current  of  air,  elevated  themselves  on  her 
shoulders  like  wings. 

The  Prince  made  his  appearance  with  hair 
curled,  in  a  white  necktie,  a  shabby  black  dress 
suit,  and  with  the  Vladimir  ribbon  of  the  order  of 
the  nobility  in  his  buttonhole ;  after  him  the  Prin- 
cess appeared  in  a  chine  silk  gown  of  antique  cut, 
and  with  that  grim  anxiety  beneath  which  mo- 
thers strive  to  conceal  their  agitation  put  her 
daughter  to  rights  from  behind — that  is  to  say, 
she  shook  out  the  folds  of  her  gown  without 
any  necessity  whatever.  An  old-fashioned,  four- 
seated  hired  carriage,  drawn  by  two  shaggy  nags, 
crawled  up  to  the  entrance,  its  wheels  creaking 
over  the  mounds  of  snow  which  had  not  been 

81 


SMOKE 

swept  away,  and  an  infirm  footman  in  a  prepos- 
terous livery  ran  in  from  the  anteroom  and  rather 
desperately  announced  that  the  carriage  was 
ready.  .  .  After  bestowing  their  blessing  for  the 
night  upon  the  remaining  children,  and  donning 
fur  wraps,  the  Prince  and  Princess  directed  their 
steps  to  the  porch;  Irina,  in  a  thin,  short-sleeved 
cloak— how  she  did  hate  that  cloak!— followed 
them  in  silence.  Litvinoff  escorted  them,  in  the 
hope  of  receiving  a  parting  glance  from  Irina, 
but  she  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage  without  turn- 
ing her  head. 

About  midnight  he  passed  under  the  windows 
of  the  Assembly.  The  innumerable  lights  in  the 
huge  chandeliers  pierced  through  the  crimson  cur- 
tains in  luminous  spots,  and  the  sounds  of  a 
Strauss  waltz  were  being  wafted,  with  a  haughty, 
festive  challenge,  all  over  the  square  encumbered 
with  equipages. 

On  the  following  day,  at  noon,  Litvinoff  betook 
himself  to  the  Osinins.  He  found  no  one  at  home 
but  the  Prince,  who  immediately  announced  to 
him  that  Irina  had  a  headache,  that  she  was  in 
bed,  and  would  not  rise  until  the  evening,  and 
that,  moreover,  such  an  indisposition  was  not  in 
the  least  surprising  after  a  first  ball. 

"  C'est  tres  naturel,  vous  savez,  dans  les  jeunes 
filles"  he  added  in  French,  which  somewhat 
amazed  Litvinoff,  who  noticed,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, that  the  Prince  was  not  wearing  his  dress- 

82 


SMOKE 

ing-gown  as  usual,  but  a  frock-coat. — "  And, 
moreover,"  went  on  Osinin,  "  how  could  she  help 
falling  ill  after  the  events  of  last  night?  " 
"  The  events?  "  blurted  out  LitvinofF. 
Yes,  yes,  the  events,  the  events,  vrais  evene- 
ments.  You  cannot  imagine,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch,  quel  succes  elle  a  eu!  The  entire  Court 
noticed  her!  Prince  Alexander  Feodorovitch 
said  that  her  place  was  not  here,  that  she  re- 
minded him  of  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  .  . 
well,  you  know  .  .  the  famous  one.  .  .  And  old 
Blazenkampf  declared,  in  the  hearing  of  every 
one,  that  Irfna  was  la  reine  du  bed,  and  asked  to  be 
presented  to  her ;  and  he  introduced  himself  to  me 
—that  is  to  say,  he  told  me  that  he  remembered 
me  as  a  hussar,  and  inquired  where  I  was  serving 
now.  He's  very  amusing,  that  Count,  and  such 
an  adorateur  du  beau  sexel  But  what  am  I  say- 
ing? .  .  .  And  my  Princess  also  ....  they 
gave  her  no  peace  either :  Natalya  Nikitishna  her- 
self conversed  with  her  .  .  .  what  more  would 
you  have?  Irina  danced  avec  tous  les  meilleurs 
cavaliers;  they  kept  introducing  them  and  intro- 
ducing them  to  me until  I  lost  count  of 

them.  Will  you  believe  it,  everybody  thronged 
around  us  in  crowds;  in  the  mazurka  they  did 
nothing  but  choose  her.  One  foreign  diplomat, 
on  learning  that  she  was  a  native  of  Moscow,  said 
to  the  Emperor:  'Sire'  said  he^—'decidement 
e'est  Moscou  qui  est  le  centre  de  votre  empire! ' 

83 


SMOKE 

and  another  diplomat  added:— c  C'est  une  vraie 
revolution,  Sire ' ;  revelation  or  revolution  .... 
something  of  that  sort.  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  it 
...  it  ...  I  must  tell  you,  it  was  something  re- 
markable." 

"Well,  and  Irina  Pavlovna  herself?  "  inquired 
Litvinoff,  whose  feet  and  hands  had  turned  cold 
during  the  Prince's  speech: — "did  she  enjoy  her- 
self, did  she  seem  pleased?  " 

"  Of  course  she  enjoyed  herself;  as  if  she  could 
help  being  pleased!  However,  you  know,  one 
cannot  make  her  out  immediately.  Every  one  said 
to  me  last  night :  -  How  amazing !  jamais  on  ne 
dirait  que  mademoiselle  votre  fille  est  a  son  pre- 
mier bal/  Count  Reisenbach,  among  the  rest; 
...  surely  you  must  know  him.  .  ." 

"  No,  I  do  not  know  him  at  all,  and  never  have 
known  him." 

"  He  's  my  wife's  first  cousin.  .  ." 

"  I  do  not  know  him." 

"  He  's  a  rich  man,  a  Court  Chamberlain ;  he 
lives  in  Petersburg ;  he  's  all  the  fashion ;  he  twists 
everybody  in  Livonia  round  his  finger.  Up  to 
now  he  has  always  despised  us ;  .  .  .  naturally,  I 
do  not  bear  him  any  grudge  for  that.  J'ai 
Vhumeur  facile,  comme  vous  savez.  Well,  now 
there  was  he.  He  sat  down  beside  Irina,  con- 
versed with  her  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  no  more, 
and  then  said  to  my  Princess:  '  Ma  cousine/  says 
he, '  votre  fille  est  une  perle;  c'est  une  perfection; 

,84 


SMOKE 

every  one  is  complimenting  me  on  my  niece.  .  .  .' 
And  then  I  saw  that  he  went  up  to  .  .  an  impor- 
tant personage,  and  kept  staring  at  Irina  all  the 
while  . . .  well,  and  the  personage  stared  also. .  . ." 

"  And  so  Irina  Pavlovna  will  not  be  visible  all 
day?"  inquired  Litvinoff  again. 

"  No;  she  has  a  very  bad  headache.  She  asked 
to  be  remembered  to  you,  and  that  we  should 
thank  you  for  your  bouquet,  quon  a  trouve  char- 
mant.  She  must  rest.  .  .  My  Princess  has  gone 
out  to  pay  calls  .  .  and  I  myself,  you  see  .  .  .  ." 

The  Prince  coughed  and  began  to  shuffle  his 
feet  about,  as  though  at  a  loss  what  more  to  say. 
Litvinoff  took  his  hat,  said  that  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  embarrassing  him,  and  would  call  later  to 
inquire  after  his  health,  and  took  his  departure. 

A  few  paces  from  the  Osinins'  house  he  caught 
sight  of  a  dandified  two-seated  carriage,  which 
had  halted  in  front  of  the  police  sentry-box.  A 
liveried  footman,  also  dandified,  was  bending 
carelessly  down  from  the  box  and  inquiring  of  the 
sentry,  who  was  a  Finn,  whereabouts  in  the  vicin- 
ity dwelt  Prince  Pavel  Vasilievitch  Osinin. 
Litvinoff  glanced  into  the  carriage:  in  it  sat  a 
middle-aged  man,  of  sanguine  complexion,  with  a 
frowning  and  haughty  face,  a  Grecian  nose,  and 
evil  lips,  enveloped  in  a  sable  cloak,— a  high  dig- 
nitary, by  all  the  signs. 


85 


IX 

Litvinoff  did  not  keep  his  promise  to  call  later ; 
he  reflected  that  it  would  be  better  to  defer  his  visit 
until  the  following  day.  When,  about  twelve 
o'clock,  he  entered  the  familiar  drawing-room,  he 
found  there  the  two  younger  Princesses,  Victo- 
rinka  and  Cleopatrinka.  He  greeted  them,  then 
inquired:  was  Irina  Pavlovna  feeling  any  better, 
and  could  he  see  her? 

"  Irinotchka  has  gone  out  wiv  mamma,"  re- 
plied Victorinka;  although  she  lisped,  she  was 
more  vivacious  than  her  sister. 

"What  .  .  .  she  has  gone  out  ?"  repeated  Lit- 
vinoff, and  something  shivered  within  him  in  the 
depths  of  his  breast— "  Does  n't  .  .  .  doesn't 
.  .  .  does  n't  she  occupy  herself  with  you  at  this 
hour— does  n't  she  give  you  lessons? ' 

"  Irinotchka  ith  n't  going  to  give  us  lethonth 
any  more,"  replied  Victorinka.—"  She  isn't  go- 
ing to  any  more,"  Cleopatrinka  repeated  after 
her. 

"  And  is  your  papa  at  home?  "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  Papa  ith  n't  at  home,  eiver,"  continued  Vic- 
torinka;—" and  Irinotchka  is  ill:  she  cwied,  cwied 
all  night  long.  .  ." 

86. 


SMOKE 

"She  cried?" 

"  Yeth,  she  cwied.  .  .  Egorovna  told  me,  and 
her  eyes  are  so  wed,  as  though  they  were 
swol — len.  .  ." 

Litvinoff  paced  up  and  down  the  room  a  couple 
of  times,  shivering  slightly,  as  though  with  cold, 
and  returned  to  his  lodgings.  He  experienced 
a  sensation  akin  to  that  which  takes  possession  of 
a  man  when  he  gazes  down  from  the  summit  of  a 
lofty  tower:  everything  died  away  within  him, 
and  his  head  swam  quietly  and  mawkishly.  Dull 
surprise  and  a  mouse-like  scampering  of  thoughts, 
ill-defined  alarm  and  dumb  anticipation,  and 
strange,  almost  malicious  curiosity,  in  his  com- 
pressed throat  the  bitterness  of  unshed  tears,  on 
his  lips  the  effort  at  an  empty  smirk,  and  an  en- 
treaty addressed  to  no  one  .  .  oh,  how  cruel  and 
humiliatingly  repulsive  it  all  was!  "  Irina  does 
not  wish  to  see  me,"  kept  whirling  incessantly 
through  his  brain,  "  that  is  clear ;  but  why  ?  What 
can  have  taken  place  at  that  ill-starred  ball?  And 
how  is  such  a  change,  all  at  once,  possible?  So 
suddenly.  .  ."  (People  are  constantly  observing 
that  death  comes  unexpectedly,  but  they  cannot 
possibly  accustom  themselves  to  its  suddenness, 
and  think  it  senseless.)  — "  She  sends  me  no  mes- 
sage, she  does  not  wish  to  come  to  an  explanation 
with  me.  .  .  ." 

"Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"  cried  a  strained  voice 
in  his  very  ear. 

87 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff  started,  and  beheld  before  him  his 
man  with  a  note  in  his  hand.  He  recognised 
Irina's  handwriting.  .  .  Even  before  he  had 
broken  the  seal  of  the  note  he  had  a  foreboding 
of  misfortune,  and  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast 
and  hunched  up  his  shoulders,  as  though  warding 
off  a  blow. 

At  last  he  summoned  his  courage  and  tore  off 
the  envelope  with  one  movement.  On  a  small 
sheet  of  note-paper  stood  the  following  words: 

"Forgive  me,  Grigdry  Mikhailitch.  Everything  is 
at  an  end  between  us.  I  am  going  to  Petersburg.  It 
distresses  me  dreadfully,  but  the  deed  is  done.  Evi- 
dently, it  is  my  fate;  .  .  but  no,  1  will  not  try  to  justify 
myself.  My  forebodings  have  been  realised.  Forgive 
me,  forget  me ;  I  am  not  worthy  of  you. 

"  Be  magnanimous:  do  not  try  to  see  me. 

"I*fNA." 

Litvinoff  read  these  five  lines  and  sank  back 
slowly  on  the  couch,  as  though  some  one  had  dealt 
him  a  blow  in  the  breast.  He  dropped  the  note, 
picked  it  up,  read  it  again,  whispered,  "  To  Pe- 
tersburg," dropped  it  again,  and  that  was  all. 
Tranquillity  descended  upon  him;  he  even  ad- 
justed the  cushion  under  his  head  with  his  hands, 
which  were  thrown  behiiad  him.  "  Those  who  are 
wounded  unto  death  do  not  toss  about,"  he  said 
to  himself ;  "  as  it  has  come,  so  it  has  gone.  .  .  All 
this  is  natural;  I  have  always  expected  this.  .  ." 

88 


SMOKE 

(He  lied  to  himself:  he  had  never  expected  any- 
thing of  the  sort.)  "  Wept?  She  wept? .  .  What 
did  she  weep  about?  For  she  did  not  love  me! 
However,  it  is  all  comprehensible  and  in  conso- 
nance with  her  character.  She,  she  is  not  worthy 
of  me.  .  .  The  idea!'  (He  laughed  bitterly.) 
'  She  herself  did  not  know  what  force  was  con- 
cealed within  her ;  well,  but  after  convincing  her- 
self of  its  effects  at  the  ball,  how  could  she  put 
up  with  an  insignificant  student?  .  .  .  It  is  all  in- 
telligible enough." 

But  here  he  recalled  her  tender  words,  her 
smiles,  and  those  eyes — those  unforgettable  eyes, 
which  he  would  never  see  again,  which  both 
beamed  and  melted  at  the  mere  encounter  with  his 
eyes;  he  recalled  also  one  swift,  timid,  burning 
kiss — and  all  of  a  sudden  he  burst  out  sobbing, 
and  sobbed  convulsively,  wildly,  venomously, 
turned  over  on  his  face,  and  choked,  and  sighed 
with  fierce  enjoyment,  as  though  thirsting  to  rend 
himself  and  everything  about  him,  thrust  his  in- 
flamed face  into  the  cushion  of  the  divan  and 
bit  it.  .  . 

Alas!  The  gentleman  whom  Litvinoff  had 
seen  on  the  previous  day  in  the  carriage  was  pre- 
cisely that  first  cousin  of  the  Princess  Osinin,  the 
wealthy  man  and  Chamberlain  of  the  Court, 
Count  Reisenbach.  On  perceiving  the  impres- 
sion which  Irina  had  made  on  persons  of  the  high- 
est position,  and  instantaneously  calculating  what 

89 


SMOKE 

advantages,  "  mit  etwas  Accuratesse"  might  be 
derived  from  that  fact,  the  Count,  being  an  ener- 
getic man  and  one  who  understood  how  to  render 
obsequious  service,  immediately  drew  up  his  plan. 
He  decided  to  act  promptly,  in  Napoleonic  fash- 
ion. "  I  will  take  that  original  young  girl  into 
my  own  house,"  he  reflected ;  "in  Petersburg  I 
will  make  her  my  heiress,  devil  take  it,  well,  of 
almost  all  my  estate;  I  happen  to  have  no  chil- 
dren ;  she  is  my  niece,  and  my  Countess  finds  life 
tiresome  alone.  .  .  At  any  rate,  it  will  be  more 
agreeable  when  there  is  a  pretty  little  face  in  the 
drawing-room.  .  .  Yes,  yes ;  that 's  so :  es  ist  eine 
Idee,  es  ist  eine  Idee!  *  He  must  dazzle,  confuse, 
startle  her  parents.  —  "  They  have  nothing  to  eat," 
the  Count  pursued  his  meditations,  as  he  sat  in 
his  carriage  and  was  being  driven  to  the  Dogs' 
Square,  "  therefore,  in  all  probability,  they  will 
not  prove  obstinate.  They  're  not  so  very  sensi- 
tive. I  might  give  them  a  sum  of  money.  But 
she?  And  she  will  consent  also.  Honev  is  sweet 
.  .  .  she  got  a  taste  of  it  last  night.  It  is  a  caprice 
of  mine,  let  us  assume ;  then  let  them  profit  by  it 
.  .  .  the  fools.  I  shall  say  to  them :  thus  and  so ; 
come  to  a  decision.  Otherwise,  I  shall  take  some 
other  girl;  an  orphan— which  is  more  convenient. 
Yes  or  no,  I  give  you  twenty-four  hours  to  make 
up  your  minds,  und  damit  Punctum." 

With  these  same  words  upon  his  lips,  the  Count 
presented  himself  before  the  Prince,  whom  he  had 

00 


SMOKE 

already,  on  the  previous  evening  at  the  ball,  fore- 
warned of  his  visit.  It  seems  not  worth  while  to 
enter  at  length  into  the  results  of  this  visit.  The 
Count  had  made  no  mistake  in  his  calculations: 
the  Prince  and  Princess  really  did  not  prove  re- 
fractory, and  accepted  the  sum  of  money,  and 
Irina  really  did  consent,  without  waiting  for  the 
expiration  of  the  appointed  term.  It  was  not  easy 
for  her  to  break  her  bond  with  LitvinofF ;  she  loved 
him,  and,  when  she  had  sent  him  the  note,  she 
almost  took  to  her  bed,  wept  incessantly,  grew 
thin  and  sallow.  .  .  But,  nevertheless,  a  month 
later  the  Princess  took  her  away  to  Petersburg, 
and  settled  her  at  the  Count's,  confiding  her  to 
the  guardianship  of  the  Countess,  a  very  kind 
woman,  but  with  the  mind  of  a  chicken  and  the 
exterior  of  a  chicken. 

But  LitvinofF  then  abandoned  the  university, 
and  went  off  to  his  father  in  the  country.  Little 
by  little  his  wTound  healed.  At  first  he  heard  noth- 
ing about  Irina,  and  he  avoided  talking  about 
Petersburg  and  Petersburg  society.  Then  grad- 
ually reports  began  to  circulate  about  her,  not  evil, 
but  strange  reports ;  rumour  began  to  busy  itself 
with  her.  The  name  of  the  young  Princess  Osi- 
nin,  surrounded  with  splendour,  stamped  with  a 
special  seal,  came  to  be  more  and  more  frequently 
mentioned  in  provincial  circles.  It  was  uttered 
with  curiosity,  with  respect,  with  envy,  as  the 
name  of  Countess  Vorotynsky  had  formerly  been  ' 

91 


SMOKE 

uttered.  At  last  the  news  of  her  marriage  was 
spread  abroad.  But  Litvinoff  paid  hardly  any 
attention  to  this  last  bit  of  news:  he  was  already 
betrothed  to  Tatyana. 

And  now  it  has  probably  become  intelligible 
to  the  reader  precisely  what  it  was  that  recurred 
to  Litvinoff,  when  he  exclaimed :  "  Is  it  possible ! ' 
and  therefore  we  will  now  return  to  Baden  and 
resume  the  thread  of  our  interrupted  story. 


»2 


X 

It  was  very  late  when  Litvinoff  got  to  sleep,  and 
he  did  not  sleep  long:  the  sun  had  only  just  risen 
when  he  rose  from  his  bed.  The  summits  of  the 
dark  hills  which  were  visible  from  his  windows 
were  glowing  with  a  moist  crimson  hue  against 
the  clear  sky.  '  How  fresh  it  must  be  yonder,  un- 
der the  trees!  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  hastily 
dressed  himself,  cast  an  abstracted  glance  at 
the  bouquet,  which  had  blossomed  out  even  more 
luxuriantly  during  the  night,  took  his  cane,  and 
betook  himself  to  the  well-known  "  Cliffs,"  behind 
the  "  Old  Castle."  The  morning  enveloped  him 
in  its  strong  and  tranquil  caress.  He  breathed 
vigorously,  he  moved  vigorously;  the  health  of 
youth  played  in  his  every  sinew;  the  earth  itself 
seemed  to  rise  up  to  meet  his  light  tread.  With 
every  step  he  felt  more  amiably  disposed,  more 
cheerful :  he  walked  along  in  the  dewy  shade,  over 
the  coarse  sand  of  the  paths,  past  the  pines,  the 
tips  of  all  whose  twigs  were  rimmed  with  the  vivid 
green  of  the  spring  shoots.  '  How  glorious  this 
is! "  he  kept  saying  to  himself.  All  at  once  he 
heard  voices  that  were  familiar  to  him :  he  glanced 
ahead  and  descried  Voroshiloff  and  Bambaeff, 

93 


SMOKE 

who  were  walking  toward  him.  He  fairly 
writhed :  he  darted  aside,  like  a  school-boy  evading 
his  teacher, and  hid  behind  a  bush. . .  "Oh,my  Cre- 
ator! "  he  prayed,  "  carry  my  fellow-countrymen 
past!"  It  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  that 
he  would  have  begrudged  no  amount  of  money, 
if  only  they  might  not  catch  sight  of  him.  . .  And, 
in  fact,  they  did  not  catch  sight  of  him :  the  Crea- 
tor bore  his  fellow-countrymen  past.  Voroshiloff, 
with  his  cadet-like  self-complacent  voice,  was  ex- 
plaining to  BambaefF  about  the  various  "  phases  ' 
of  Gothic  architecture,  while  BambaefF  merely 
grunted  approvingly ;  it  was  evident  that  Voroshi- 
loff had  already  been  overwhelming  him  for  a 
long  time  with  his  "  phases,"  and  the  good- 
natured  enthusiast  was  beginning  to  be  bored. 
Long  did  Litvfnoff,  biting  his  lip,  and  craning 
his  neck,  listen  to  the  retreating  footsteps;  long 
did  cadences,  now  guttural,  now  nasal,  of  that  in- 
structive harangue  resound;  at  last  all  became 
silent.  Litvfnoff  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  emerged 
from  his  ambush,  and  pursued  his  way. 

For  three  hours  he  roamed  about  the  mountains. 
Now  he  deserted  the  path,  and  leaped  from  rock 
to  rock,  occasionally  slipping  on  the  smooth  moss ; 
again  he  seated  himself  on  a  fragment  of  the 
cliff,  beneath  an  oak  or  a  beech,  and  indulged  in 
pleasant  thoughts,  to  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  the 
brooks,  overgrown  with  ferns,  the  soothing  rus- 
tle of  the  leaves,  and  the  ringing  song  of  a  solitary 

94 


SMOKE 

blackbird;   a   slight   drowsiness,   also   agreeable, 
stole  upon  him,  seemed  to  embrace  him  from  be- 
hind, and  he  fell  asleep  .  .  .  but  suddenly  he 
smiled  and  cast  a  glance  about  him :  the  green  and 
gold  of  the  forest,  of  the  forest  air,  beat  gently 
on  his  sight— and  again  he  smiled,  and  again  he 
closed  his  eyes.  He  felt  like  breakfasting,  and  be- 
took himself  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Old  Castle," 
where,  for  a  few  kreutzers,  he  would  be  able  to 
obtain  a  glass  of  good  milk  and  coffee.    But  he 
had  not  succeeded  in  taking  his  place  at  one  of 
the  small  white-painted  tables,  which  stood  on  the 
platform  in  front  of  the  castle,  when  he  heard  the 
laboured  snorting  of  horses,  and  three  calashes 
made  their  appearance,  from  which  poured  forth 
a  rather  numerous  party  of  ladies  and  cavaliers 
....  Litvinoff  immediately  recognised  them  for 
Russians,    although    they    were    all    talking    in 
French  .  .  because  they  were  talking  in  French. 
The    toilets    of    the    ladies    were    distinguished 
by    exquisite     smartness;     the     cavaliers    wore 
brand-new  coats,  but  tight-fitting  and  with  a  well- 
defined  waist,  which  is  not  altogether  usual  in  our 
day,  trousers  of  grey  figured  material,  and  very 
shiny  city  hats.     A  low,  black  neckcloth  closely 
encircled  the  neck  of  each  cavalier,  and  something 
military  made  itself  felt  in  their  whole  bearing. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  military  men ;  Lit- 
vinoff had  happened  upon  a  picnic  of  young  gen- 
erals, persons  of  the  highest  society,  and  of  con- 

05 


SMOKE 

siderable  importance.  Their  importance  was  an- 
nounced in  every  point:  in  their  discreet  ease  of 
manner,  in  their  gracefully  majestic  smiles,  in  the 
strained  abstraction  of  their  glance,  in  the  effem- 
inate twitching  of  their  shoulders,  in  the  swaying 
motion  of  their  figures,  and  in  the  bend  of  their 
knees ;  it  was  betrayed  by  the  very  sound  of  their 
voices,  which  seemed  to  be  amiably  and  fastidi- 
ously returning  thanks  to  a  subservient  throng. 
All  these  warriors  were  splendidly  washed, 
shaved,  perfumed  through  and  through  with  some 
scent  or  other  which  is  a  genuine  appurtenance  of 
the  nobility  and  the  Guards,  a  mixture  of  the  most 
capital  cigar  smoke  and  the  most  astonishing 
patchouli.  And  all  their  hands  were  those  of 
nobles — white,  large, with  nails  as  strong  as  ivory; 
the  moustaches  of  all  fairly  shone,  their  teeth 
gleamed,  and  their  very  delicate  skin  was  red  on 
the  cheeks,  blue  on  the  chin.  Some  of  the  young 
generals  were  playful,  others  were  thoughtful; 
but  the  stamp  of  superior  propriety  lay  upon  them 
all.  Each  one,  apparently,  was  profoundly  con- 
scious of  his  own  worth,  and  of  the  dignity  of  his 
future  part  in  the  empire,  and  bore  himself  se- 
verely and  boldly,  with  a  faint  tinge  of  that  f risk- 
iness, that  "  devil-take-me  "  air,  which  so  natu- 
rally makes  its  appearance  during  travels  abroad. 
Having  noisily  and  pompously  seated  them- 
selves, the  company  summoned  the  bustling  wait- 
ers.   LitvinofF  made  haste  to  finish  his  glass  of 

96 


SMOKE 

milk,  paid  what  he  owed,  and  pulling  his  hat  well 
down  over  his  eyes,  he  was  on  the  point  of  slip- 
ping past  the  picnic  of  generals.  .  . 

'  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"  said  a  woman's  voice. 
—  "  Don't  you  know  me?  " 

He  involuntarily  halted.  That  voice.  .  That 
voice  had  but  too  often  caused  his  heart  to  beat 
in  days  gone  by.  .  .  He  turned  round  and  beheld 
Irina. 

She  was  sitting  at  a  table,  and  with  her  arms 
crossed  on  the  back  of  a  chair  which  had  been 
pushed  aside,  she  was  gazing  at  him  courteously, 
almost  joyously,  with  her  head  bent  on  one  side, 
and  smiling. 

Litvinoff  instantly  recognised  her,  although  she 
had  changed  since  he  had  seen  her  for  the  last 
time,  ten  years  previously,  although  from  a  young 
girl  she  had  become  a  woman.  Her  slender  figure 
had  developed  and  blossomed  out,  the  lines  of  her 
formerly  compressed  shoulders  now  suggested 
those  of  the  goddesses  who  start  forth  from  the 
ceilings  of  ancient  Italian  palaces.  But  her  eyes 
remained  the  same,  and  it  seemed  to  Litvinoff 
that  they  were  gazing  at  him  in  the  same  manner 
as  then,  in  that  tiny  house  in  Moscow. 

'  Irina  Pavlovna  .  .  .  ."  he  began  irresolutely. 

1  You  recognise  me  ?  How  glad  I  am !  .  .  . 
how  I  .  .  ."  (She  paused,  blushed  slightly,  and 
drew  herself  up.)  '  This  is  a  very  pleasant  meet- 
ing," she  went  on  in  French.—"  Allow  me  to  in- 

97 


SMOKE 

troduce  you  to  my  husband.  Valerien,  Monsieur 
Litvinoff,  un  ami  d'enfance;  Valerian  Vladimiro- 
vitch  Ratmiroff,  my  husband." 

One  of  the  young  generals,  almost  the  most  ele- 
gant of  them  all,  rose  from  his  chair,  and  bowed 
to  Litvinoff  with  extreme  courtesy,  while  his  re- 
maining comrades  knit  their  brows  slightly,  or, 
not  so  much  knit  their  brows,  as  became  immersed, 
for  the  moment,  each  one  in  himself,  as  though 
protesting  in  advance  at  any  connection  with  a 
strange  civilian,  while  the  other  ladies  who  were 
taking  part  in  the  picnic  considered  it  necessary 
to  screw  their  eyes  up  a  trifle  and  to  grin,  and 
even  to  express  dissatisfaction  on  their  faces. 

"  You.  . . .  Have  you  been  long  in  Baden?  "  in- 
quired General  Ratmiroff,  assuming  an  affected 
air,  in  a  certain  non-Russian  fashion,  and  evi- 
dently not  knowing  what  to  talk  about  with  the 
friend  of  his  wife's  youth. 

"  Not  long,"  replied  Litvinoff. 

"  And  do  you  intend  to  remain  long? "  went 
on  the  polite  general. 

"  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind." 

"Ah!    That  is  very  pleasant  .  .  .  very." 

The  general  became  dumb.  Litvinoff  also 
maintained  silence. 

Both  held  their  hats  in  their  hands,  and  with 
bodies  inclined  forward  and  teeth  displayed,  they 
stared  at  each  other's  brows. 

"  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau  dimanche"  struck 

98 


SMOKE 

up,  out  of  tune,  as  a  matter  of  course, — we  have 
yet  to  meet  the  Russian  noble  who  does  not  sing 
out  of  tune,— a  mole-eyed,  sallow  general  with  an 
expression  of  perpetual  irritation  on  his  face,  as 
though  he  could  not  pardon  himself  for  his  own 
appearance.  He  was  the  only  one  among  all  those 
comrades  who  did  not  resemble  a  rose. 

'  But  why  do  not  you  sit  down,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailitch?  "  remarked  Irina  at  last. 

LitvinofF  obeyed  and  sat  down. 

"  I  say,  Valerian,  give  me  a  light,"  said  (in 
English )  another  general,  also  young  but  already 
obese,  with  immovable  eyes,  which  seemed  to  be 
riveted  on  the  air,  and  with  thick,  silky  side- 
whiskers,  in  which  he  slowly  plunged  his  snow- 
white  fingers.  RatmirofF  gave  him  a  silver  box 
filled  with  matches. 

"  Avec  vous  des  papiros?  **  inquired  one  of  the 
ladies,  with  a  lisp. 

*  De  vrais  papelitos,  comtesse." 

"  Deux  gendarmes  tin  beau  dimanche"  struck 
up  the  mole-eyed  general  again,  almost  gnashing 
his  teeth. 

"  You  certainly  must  call  upon  us,"  Irina  was 
saying,  meanwhile,  to  LitvinofF. — "  We  are  liv- 
ing in  the  Hotel  de  l'Europe.  I  am  always  at 
home  from  four  until  six.  You  and  I  have  not 
seen  each  other  for  a  long  time." 

LitvinofF  cast  a  glance  at  Irina;  she  did  not 
lower  her  eyes 

09 


SMOKE 

"  Yes,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it  is  a  long  time.  Not 
since  Moscow  days." 

"  Since  Moscow  days— since  Moscow  days," 
she  repeated  haltingly. — "Do  come;  we  will 
have  a  chat  and  recall  old  times.  But,  do  you 
know,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  you  have  not  altered 
much." 

"  Really?  But  you  have  changed,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna." 

"  I  have  grown  old." 

"  No,  that  was  not  what  I  meant  to  say.  .  ." 

"Irene?"  in  an  inquiring  tone  of  voice,  said  one 
of  the  ladies,  with  a  yellow  bonnet  on  yellow  hair, 
after  a  preliminary  whisper  and  giggle  with  the 
cavalier  who  sat  beside  her.  —  "  Irina? ' 

"  I  have  grown  old,"  repeated  Irina,  making 
no  reply  to  the  lady;  "  but  I  have  not  changed. 
No,  no,  I  have  not  changed  in  any  way." 

"  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau  dimanche! "  rang 
out  again.  The  irritable  general  could  recall  only 
the  first  line  of  the  familiar  song. 

"  It  still  pricks,  Your  Illustriousness,"  said  the 
fat  general  with  the  side-whiskers  in  a  loud  voice, 
pronouncing  his  os  broadly,  probably  in  allusion 
to  some  amusing  story  familiar  to  the  whole  beau 
monde,  and  uttering  a  curt,  wooden  laugh,  he 
again  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  air.  All  the  rest  of 
the  party  broke  out  laughing  also. 

"  What  a  sad  dog  you  are,  Boris!  "  remarked 
(in  English)  RatmirofF  in  a  low  tone.    He  even 

100 


SMOKE 

pronounced    the    name    "  Boris '     in    English 
fashion. 

"  Irene?  "  inquired  for  the  third  time,  the  lady 
in  the  yellow  bonnet.  Irina  turned  quickly  to- 
ward her. 

"  Eh,  bienl  quoi?  Que  me  voulez-vous?  " 
c  Je  vous  le  dirai  plus  tard/J  replied  the  lady 
affectedly.  Although  possessed  of  an  extremely 
unattractive  exterior,  she  was  constantly  indulg- 
ing in  affectations  and  grimaces;  a  certain  wit 
had  once  said  of  her  that  she  "minaudait  dans  le 
vide  " — made  grimaces  at  empty  space. 

Irina  frowned  and  impatiently  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  Mais  que  fait  done.  Monsieur  Verdier?  Pour- 
quoi  ne  vient-il  pas?  "  exclaimed  one  lady,  with 
those  drawling  accents  wrhich  are  insufferable  to 
French  ears,  and  which  constitute  the  specialty  of 
the  Great  Russian  pronunciation. 

"  Akh,  you,  akh,  you,  Monsieur  Verdier,  Mon- 
sieur Verdier,"  groaned  a  lady,  who  had  certainly 
been  born  in  Arzamas. 

"  Tranquillisez-vous,  mesdames"  interposed 
Ratmiroff :— "  Monsieur  Verdier  ma  promis  de 
venir  se  mettre  a  vos  pieds." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"— the  ladies  began  to  flutter 
their  fans. 

The  waiter  brought  several  glasses  of  beer. 

"  Bairisch-bier?  "  inquired  the  general  with  the 
side-whiskers,   intentionally  speaking  in  a  bass 

101 


SMOKE 

voice,  and  pretending  to  be  surprised.—"  Guten 
Morgen" 

"Well?  Is  Count  Pavel  still  there?"  one 
young  general  coldly  and  languidly  asked  an- 
other. 

"  Yes," — replied  the  other,  with  equal  coldness. 
— "  Mais  cest  provisoire.  Serge,  they  say,  is  in 
his  place." 

'  Oho!  "  hissed  the  other  through  his  teeth. 

"  Ye-es,"  hissed  the  first. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  began  the  general  who 
had  been  humming  the  song:—"  I  cannot  under- 
stand what  possessed  Polya  to  defend  himself,  to 
allege  various  excuses.  .  .  Well,  he  molested  the 
merchant,  il  lui  a  fait  rendre  gorge  .  .  .  well,  but 
what  of  that?    He  may  have  had  his  reasons." 

"  He  was  afraid  .  .  of  being  shown  up  in  the 
newspapers,"  muttered  some  one. 

The  irritable  general  flared  up. 

"  Well,  that  is  the  very  worst  of  all !  The  news- 
papers! Shown  up!  If  it  had  depended  on  me, 
all  I  would  permit  your  newspapers  to  print 
would  be  the  fixed  prices  of  meat  and  of  bread, 
and  the  advertisements  of  the  sale  of  fur  cloaks 
and  boots." 

"  And  of  noblemen's  estates  at  auction,"  put 
in  Ratmiroff . 

"  If  you  like,  under  present  conditions.  But 
what  a  conversation  in  Baden,  at  the  Vieux  Cha- 
teau!" 

102 


SMOKE 

"  Mais  pas  du  tout!  pas  du  tout! "  lisped  the 
lady  in  the  yellow  bonnet. — "  J' adore  les  questions 
poiitiques" 

"Madame  a  raison"  interposed  another  gen- 
eral, with  an  extremely  agreeable  and  rather  ef- 
feminate face. — "  Why  should  we  avoid  those 
questions  .  .  .  even  in  Baden? '  At  these  words 
he  glanced  politely  at  Litvinoff,  and  smiled  con- 
descendingly.—" An  upright  man  ought  no- 
where, under  any  circumstances,  to  renounce  his 
convictions.    Is  not  that  true?  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  irritable  general,  also 
casting  his  eyes  on  Litvinoff,  and,  as  it  were,  in- 
directly reproving  him:—"  but  I  do  not  perceive 
the  necessity  ..." 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  the  condescending  gen- 
eral, with  his  former  mildness. 

"  Here  our  friend,  Valerian  Vladimirovitch, 
alluded  to  the  sale  of  noblemen's  estates.  What 
of  that?    Is  it  not  a  fact?  " 

"  But  it  is  impossible  to  sell  them  now;  nobody 
wants  them!  "  exclaimed  the  irritable  general. 

"  Possibly  .  .  .  possibly.  Therefore,  it  is  nec- 
essary to  declare  that  fact  .  .  .  that  sad  fact,  at 
every  step.  We  are  ruined — very  good.  We  are 
humiliated,— it  is  impossible  to  dispute  that;  but 
we  large  proprietors,  we  represent  a  principle  .  . 
un  principe  .  .  .  nevertheless.  It  is  our  duty  to 
uphold  that  principle.  Pardon,  madame,  I  think 
you  have  dropped  your  handkerchief.     When  a 

103 


SMOKE 

certain  blindness,  so  to  speak,  takes  possession  of 
even  the  loftiest  minds,  we  ought  to  point  out — 
humbly  point  out '  (the  general  stretched  out 
his  finger), — "point  out  with  the  finger  to  the 
citizen  the  abyss  whither  everything  is  hastening. 
We  ought  to  utter  a  warning:  we  ought  to  say 
with  respectful  firmness : '  turn  back,  turn  back. .' 
That  is  what  we  ought  to  say." 

'  But  it  is  impossible  to  turn  back  completely," 
remarked  Ratmiroff  thoughtfully. 

The  condescending  general  merely  grinned. 

"  Completely ;  completely  back,  mon  tres  cher. 
The  further  back  the  better." 

Again  the  general  cast  a  polite  glance  at  Litvi- 
noff.  The  latter  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 
You  would  not  have  us  return  to  the  time  of 
the  Seven  Boyars,  Your  Excellency  ? ' 

'  Even  that !  I  expressed  my  meaning  without 
any  ambiguity;  we  must  do  over  .  .  .  yes  .  .  . 
do  over  everything  that  has  been  done." 

'  And  the  nineteenth  of  February  also? ' 

"Yes, the  nineteenth  of  February1  also, — so  far 
as  that  is  possible.  On  est  patriote  ou  on  ne  Vest 
pas.  '  But  freedom  ? '  I  shall  be  asked.  Do  you 
think  this  freedom  is  sweet  to  the  people?  Just 
ask  them.  .  .  ." 

"Try,"  retorted  Litvinoff:— "  try  to  deprive 
them  of  that  freedom.  .  ." 

1  The  date  of  the   Emancipation  Proclamation,   March  3, 
186L — Translator. 

104 


SMOKE 

"  Comment  nommez-vous  ce  monsieur?  "  whis- 
pered the  general  to  Ratmiroff. 

"  But  what  are  you  talking  about  there?  "  sud- 
denly began  the  fat  general,  who,  evidently, 
played  the  part  of  a  spoiled  child  in  this  company. 
"  Still  about  the  newspapers?  About  quill- 
drivers?  Let  me  tell  you  what  an  experience  I 
had  with  a  quill-driver— it  was  splendid!  I  was 
told:  (un  folliculaire  has  written  a  libel  on  you.' 
Well,  of  course,  I  immediately  called  him  to  ac- 
count. They  brought  the  dear  man.  .  .  '  How 
come  you,'  says  I,  '  my  friend,  folliculaire,  to  be 
writing  libels?  Have  you  conquered  your  patri- 
otism? '  '  I  have,'  says  he.  '  Well,  and  do  you 
love  money,  folliculaire?  '  says  I.  '  I  do,'  says  he. 
So  then,  my  dear  sirs,  I  let  him  smell  of  the  knob 
of  my  cane.—'  And  do  you  love  this  also,  my 
angel? '— '  No,'  says  he,  '  I  don't  love  that.'— 
'  Well,'  says  I, '  you  smell  of  that  in  proper  fash- 
ion—my hands  are  clean.'—'  I  don't  like  it,'  says 
he,  '  and  that 's  enough.'—'  But  I,  my  dear  fel- 
low,' says  I,  '  love  it  very  much,  only  not  for  my- 
self. Do  you  understand  this  allegory,  my 
treasure?  '—'I  understand,'  says  he.—'  Then  look 
to  it,  be  a  good  boy  hereafter,  and  now  here  's  a 
ruble  for  you ;  take  yourself  off,  and  bless  me  day 
and  night.'    And  the  folliculaire  departed." 

The  general  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  all  the 
others  again  followed  his  example  and  laughed — 
all,  with  the  exception  of  Irina,  who  did  not  even 

10& 


SMOKE 

smile,  and  stared  in  a  somewhat  gloomy  manner 
at  the  story-teller. 

The  condescending  general  tapped  Boris  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  You  invented  the  whole  of  that,  my  beloved 
friend.  .  As  if  you  would  menace  any  one  with  a 
cane.  .  .  You  have  n  't  even  any  cane.  C'est 
pour  faire  rire  ces  dames.  It  was  just  for  the 
sake  of  a  joke.  But  that  's  not  the  point.  I  said 
a  while  ago  that  we  must  return  completely. 
Understand  me,  I  am  not  an  enemy  to  so-called 
progress ;  but  all  those  universities  and  seminaries 
there,  and  schools  for  the  common  people,  those 
students,  priests'  sons,  plebeians,  and  that  small 
fry,  tout  ce  fond  du  sac,  la  petite  propriete,  pire 
que  le  proletariat " —  (the  general  spoke  in  a  sub- 
dued, almost  prostrated  voice)  —"  voila  ce  qui 
m'effraie  .  .  .  that  is  what  must  be  stopped  .  .  . 
and  it  will  stop."  (Again  he  cast  a  caressing 
glance  at  Litvinoff. )  ;  Yes,  sir,  we  must  call  a 
halt.  Do  not  forget  that  with  us  no  one  demands 
anything,  asks  anything.  Does  any  one  ask  for 
self-government,  for  example?  Do  you  ask  for  it? 
Or  dost  thou?  or  thou?  or  do  you,  mesdames?  For 
you  not  only  govern  yourselves  but  also  all  the 
rest  of  us."  (The  general's  extremely  handsome 
countenance  lighted  up  with  an  amused  smile.) 
"  My  dear  friends,  why  flee  like  a  hare?  Democ- 
racy delights  in  you,  it  burns  incense  before  you,  it 
is  ready  to  subserve  your  ends  .  .  for  you  know 

106 


SMOKE 

this  sword  is  two-edged.  The  old  ways  of  times 
gone  by  are  the  best,  after  all  .  .  They  are  much 
safer.  Do  not  permit  the  common  people  to  rea- 
son, and  put  your  trust  in  the  aristocracy,  in  which 
alone  there  is  power.  .  .  Really,  it  will  be  better 
so.  But  as  for  progress  .  . .  personally,  I  have  no 
objection  to  progress.  Only,  do  not  give  us  any 
lawyers,  and  jurors,  and  some  county  officials  or 
other— but  discipline,  most  of  all,  do  not  meddle 
with  discipline;  but  you  can  build  bridges,  and 
quays,  and  hospitals,  and  why  should  not  the 
streets  be  illuminated  with  gas? " 

"  Petersburg  has  been  fired  on  all  four  sides, 
and  there's  progress  for  you!"  hissed  the  irri- 
table general. 

"  Well,  I  perceive  that  you  are  rancorous,"  re- 
marked the  fat  general  languidly,  as  he  swayed 
to  and  fro.—"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  ap- 
point you  Chief  Procurator  of  the  Holy  Synod; 
but,  in  my  opinion,  avec  Orphee  aux  enfers  le 
progres  a  du  son  dernier  mot." 

"Vous  dites  toujours  des  betises"  giggled  the 
lady  from  Arzamas. 

The  general  assumed  an  air  of  dignity. 

"  Je  ne  suis  jamais  plus  scrieux,  madame,  que 
quand  je  dis  des  betises." 

"  Monsieur  Verdier  used  that  phrase  several 
times,"  remarked  Irina,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  De  la  poigne  et  des  formes! "  exclaimed  the 
fat  general:— "de  la  poigne  surtout.    And  that 

107 


SMOKE 

may  be  translated  into  Russian  thus:  be  cour- 
teous, but  give  it  to  them  straight  in  the  teeth! ' 

"  Akh,  you  scamp,  you  incorrigible  scamp ! ' 
interposed  the  condescending  general. — "  Please 
do  not  listen  to  him,  mesdames.     He  would  not 
hurt  a  gnat.    He  contents  himself  with  devouring 
his  own  heart." 

"  Well,  but  no,  Boris,"  began  Ratmiroff,  ex- 
changing a  glance  with  his  wife: — "  a  jest  is  a 
jest,  but  this  is  carrying  the  thing  too  far.  Prog- 
ress is  a  manifestation  of  social  life,  and  that 
must  be  borne  in  mind;  it  is  a  symptom.  One 
must  keep  an  eye  on  it." 

"  Well,  yes,"  returned  the  fat  general,  and 
wrinkled  up  his  nose.—"  'T  is  a  well-known  fact 
that  your  aim  is  to  be  a  statesman !  " 

"  My  aim  is  not  in  the  least,  to  become  a  states- 
man. .  .  What  has  statesmanship  to  do  with  that? 
But  one  must  not  refuse  to  admit  the  truth." 

"  Boris  "  again  plunged  his  fingers  into  his 
whiskers,  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  air. 

"  Social  life  is  very  important,  because  in  the 
development  of  a  nation,  in  the  fate,  so  to  speak, 
of  the  fatherland  ..." 

"  Valerien,"  interrupted  "  Boris "  impres- 
sively:—" il  y  a  des  dames  id.  I  did  not  expect 
this  from  you.  Or  do  you  wish  to  get  on  a  com- 
mittee? " 

"  But  they  are  all  discontinued  now,  thank 
God,"  interposed  the  irritable  general,  and  again 

108 


SMOKE 

began  to  hum :  "  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau 
dimanche " 

Ratmiroff  raised  his  batiste  handkerchief  to  his 
nose,  and  gracefully  subsided  into  silence;  the 
irritable  general  repeated:  "The  scamp!  the 
scamp!  "  But  "  Boris  "  turned  to  the  lady  who 
was  making  grimaces  into  empty  space,  and, 
without  lowering  his  voice,  without  even  altering 
the  expression  of  his  face,  he  began  to  ask  her 
when  she  "  would  crown  his  flame,"  as  he  was 
amazingly  in  love  with  her,  and  was  suffering  to 
an  unusual  degree. 

With  every  moment  that  passed  during  the 
course  of  this  conversation  LitvinofF  felt  more 
and  more  uncomfortable.  His  pride,  his  honour- 
able, plebeian  pride,  fairly  rose  up  in  revolt. 
What  was  there  in  common  between  him,  the  son 
of  a  petty  official,  and  those  military  aristocrats 
from  Petersburg?  He  loved  everything  which 
they  hated,  he  hated  everything  which  they  loved ; 
he  recognised  that  fact  too  plainly :  he  felt  it  with 
his  whole  being.  He  considered  their  jests  in- 
sipid, their  tone  intolerable,  their  every  movement 
artificial;  in  the  very  softness  of  their  speech  his 
ear  detected  scorn  which  revolted  him— and  yet 
he  seemed  to  have  grown  timid  in  their  presence 
—in  the  presence  of  those  people,  those  enemies. . . 
"  Faugh,  how  disgusting!  I  embarrass  them,  I 
seem  ridiculous  to  them,"  kept  whirling  through 
his  brain :  — "  and  why  do  I  remain  here?    Let  me 

109 


SMOKE 

go,  let  me  go  at  once!"  Irina's  presence  could 
not  detain  him :  she  also  aroused  melancholy  emo- 
tions in  him.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  began 
to  take  leave. 

"Are  you  going  already?'  said  Irina,  but 
after  a  little  reflection  she  ceased  to  insist,  and 
merely  made  him  promise  that  he  would  not  fail 
to  call  on  her.  General  Ratmiroff,  with  the  same 
refined  courtesy  as  before,  took  leave  of  him,  shook 
hands  with  him,  and  escorted  him  to  the  edge  of 
the  platform.  .  .  But  Litvmoff  had  barely  passed 
round  the  first  turn  in  the  road,  when  a  hearty 
burst  of  laughter  rang  out  behind  him.  This 
laughter  did  not  refer  to  him,  but  to  the  long- 
expected  Monsieur  Verdier,  who  suddenly  made 
his  appearance  on  the  platform,  in  a  Tyrolean 
hat,  a  blue  blouse,  and  mounted  astride  of  an  ass ; 
but  the  blood  fairly  rushed  to  Litvinoff's  cheeks, 
and  he  felt  bitter,  as  though  wormwood  had  glued 
his  tightly-compressed  lips  together.  "  The  de- 
spicable, vulgar  creatures!  "  he  muttered,  without 
taking  into  consideration  that  the  few  moments 
spent  in  company  of  those  people  had  not  fur- 
nished him  any  cause  to  express  himself  so 
harshly.  And  Irina,  the  Irina  who  had  once  been 
his,  had  got  into  that  set!  She  moved  in  it,  lived 
in  it,  reigned  in  it,  for  it  she  had  sacrificed  her 
own  dignity,  th£  best  sentiments  of  her  heart.  .  . 
Evidently,  all  was  as  it  should  be;  evidently,  she 
deserved  no  better  fate!    How  glad  he  was  that 

110 


SMOKE 

it  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  question  him  as  to  his 
intentions !  He  would  have  been  obliged  to  state 
them  before  "  them,"  in  "  their  "  presence.  .  . 
"  Not  for  any  consideration!  Never!"  whispered 
Litvinoff,  inhaling  a  deep  breath  of  the  fresh  air, 
and  descending  the  path  to  Baden  almost  at  a 
run.  He  thought  of  his  affianced  bride,  of  his 
dear,  good,  holy  Tanya,  and  how  pure,  how  noble, 
how  upright,  she  appeared  to  him!  With  what 
genuine  emotion  he  recalled  her  features,  her 
words,  even  her  habits  .  .  .  with  what  impatience 
did  he  await  her  return! 

His  rapid  pace  calmed  his  nerves.  On  reach- 
ing home  he  seated  himself  at  the  table,  took  a 
book  in  his  hand,  and  suddenly  threw  it  down, 
and  even  shuddered.  .  What  had  happened  to 
him?  Nothing  had  happened  to  him,  but  Irina 
.  .  .  Irina  ...  his  encounter  with  her  suddenly 
struck  him  as  surprising,  strange,  unusual.  Was 
it  possible  he  had  met,  had  talked  with  that  same 
Irina?  .  .  .  And  why  did  not  that  repulsive, 
worldly  stamp,  wherewith  all  the  others  were  so 
plainly  marked,  lie  upon  her  also?  Why  did  it 
seem  to  him  that  she  was  bored,  or  grieved,  or 
oppressed  by  her  position?  She  was  in  their 
camp,  but  she  was  not  an  enemy.  And  what 
could  have  made  her  treat  him  with  such  cordial- 
ity, ask  him  to  come  to  her? 

Litvinoff  gave  a  start.—"  Oh  Tanya,  Tanya! ' 
he  exclaimed  impulsively:—"  thou  art  my  angel, 

111 


SMOKE 

my  good  genius — I  love  thee  alone  and  will  al- 
ways love  thee.    And  I  will  not  go  to  that  woman. 
I  will  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  her!    Let 
her  amuse  herself  with  her  generals! ' 
Litvinoff  again  took  up  a  book. 


m 


XI 

Litvinoff  took  up  a  book,  but  he  could  not 
read.  He  left  the  house,  strolled  about  a  little, 
listened  to  the  music,  stared  a  while  at  the  gam- 
ing, and  again  returned  to  his  room— again  made 
an  attempt  to  read— still  without  success.  Time, 
for  some  reason,  dragged  on  with  particular  slow- 
ness. Pishtchalkin,  the  well-meaning  arbitrator 
of  the  peace,  came  in,  and  sat  there  for  about  three 
hours.  He  conversed,  explained,  put  questions, 
argued  in  the  intervals— now  on  lofty  themes, 
now  on  useful  ones,  and  at  last  diffused  such 
tedium  that  poor  Litvinoff  almost  set  up  a  howl. 
In  the  art  of  inspiring  tedium,  melancholy,  cold, 
helpless,  hopeless  tedium,  Pishtchalkin  had  no 
rival,  even  among  the  people  of  the  loftiest  moral- 
ity, who  are  well-known  masters  in  that  line.  The 
mere  sight  of  his  closely-clipped,  smoothly- 
brushed  head,  of  his  light,  lifeless  eyes,  his  well- 
formed  nose,  inspired  involuntary  despondency, 
and  his  slow,  baritone,  apparently  slumbering 
voice,  seemed  to  have  been  created  for  the  purpose 
of  uttering,  with  conviction  and  perspicuity, 
apophthegms  to  the  effect  that  two  and  two  make 
four,  and  not  five,  and  not  three;  that  water  is 
wet,  and  that  virtue  is  laudable;  that  a  private 

113 


SMOKE 

person,  equally  with  an  empire,  and  an  empire, 
equally  with  a  private  person,  must  have  credit 
for  financial  operations.  And  withal,  he  was  a 
most  excellent  man !  But  such  is  the  fate  decreed 
to  Russia:  our  most  excellent  people  are  tire- 
some. Pishtchalkin  withdrew ;  Bindasoff  took  his 
place,  and  slowly,  with  immense  impudence,  de- 
manded that  Litvinoff  should  lend  him  one  hun- 
dred guldens,  which  the  latter  gave  him,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  not  only  took  no  interest  in 
Bindasoff,  but  even  loathed  him,  and  knew  for 
a  certainty  that  he  would  never  get  his  money 
back  again ;  moreover,  he  needed  it  himself.  Then 
why  did  he  give  it  to  him?  the  reader  asks.  The 
devil  knows  why !  The  Russians  are  great  fellows 
at  that.  Let  the  reader  lay  his  hand  on  his  heart 
and  recall  how  many  acts  in  his  own  life  have 
had,  positively,  no  other  cause.  But  Bindasoff 
did  not  even  thank  Litvinoff:  he  demanded  a 
glass  of  Aff enthaler  (the  red  wine  of  Baden)  and 
went  away,  without  wiping  his  lips,  and  with  a 
rude  clumping  of  his  boots.  And  how  angry  Lit- 
vinoff was  with  himself,  as  he  gazed  at  the  red 
neck  of  the  departing  monopolist!  Just  before 
evening  he  received  a  letter  from  Tanya,  in  which 
she  informed  him  that  in  consequence  of  her 
aunt's  illness  she  could  not  reach  Baden  in  less 
than  five  or  six  days.  This  news  produced  an  un- 
pleasant effect  on  Litvinoff:  it  aggravated  his 
vexation,  and  he  went  to  bed  early  in  an  evil 

114 


SMOKE 

frame  of  mind.  The  following  day  turned  out 
no  better  than  the  preceding,  worse,  if  anything. 
From  early  morning  Litvinoff's  room  was  filled 
with  his  fellow-countrymen:  BambaefF,  Voroshi- 
loff ,  Pishtchalkin,  the  two  officers,  the  two  Hei- 
delberg students,  all  thronged  in  at  once,  and 
never  took  their  departure  until  almost  dinner- 
time, although  they  speedily  talked  themselves 
out,  and  were  evidently  bored.  They  simply 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  themselves,  and 
having  once  got  into  Litvinoff's  quarters,  they 
'  stuck  "  there,  as  the  expression  is.  At  first  they 
discussed  the  fact  that  Gubaryoff  had  gone  back 
to  Heidelberg,  and  that  they  must  betake  them- 
selves to  him;  then  they  philosophised  a  little, 
touched  on  the  Polish  question;  then  they  pro- 
ceeded to  argue  about  gambling,  courtesans,  be- 
gan to  narrate  scandalous  anecdotes;  at  last  a 
conversation  arose  about  strong  men,  fat  men, 
and  gluttons.  Ancient  anecdotes  were  dragged 
out  into  the  light  of  day,  about  Lukin,  about  the 
deacon  who  devoured,  on  a  wager,  thirty-three 
herrings,  about  the  colonel  of  Uhlans,  Izyedinoff, 
well  known  for  his  obesity,  about  the  soldier  who 
broke  a  beef -bone  over  his  own  forehead ;  and  then 
came  downright  lies.  Pishtchalkin  himself  nar- 
rated, with  a  yawn,  that  he  knew  a  peasant  woman 
in  Little  Russia,  who,  at  her  death,  weighed 
twenty-seven  puds  i  and  several  pounds,  and  a 

1A    pud    is    thirty-six    pounds. — Translator. 

115 


SMOKE 

landed  proprietor,  who  had  devoured  three  geese 
and  a  sturgeon  for  breakfast.  Bambaeff  sud- 
denly went  into  raptures,  and  declared  that  he 
himself  was  in  a  condition  to  eat  a  whole  sheep, 
"  of  course,  with  condiments,"  while  Voroshiloff 
rashly  made  such  an  absurd  remark  about  his 
comrade,  the  muscular  cadet,  that  all  became 
silent,  remained  silent,  stared  at  one  another, 
took  their  hats,  and  dispersed.  When  he  was 
left  alone,  Litvinoff  tried  to  occupy  himself 
with  some  work,  but  it  seemed  exactly  as  though 
soot  had  got  into  his  head;  he  could  do  nothing 
of  value,  and  the  evening  also  was  wasted.  On 
the  following  morning,  as  he  was  preparing  to 
breakfast,  some  one  knocked  at  his  door.  '  O 
Lord!"— said  Litvinoff  to  himself,— "  there 's 
some  one  of  those  friends  of  yesterday  again," 
and  not  without  considerable  shuddering,  he 
called  out : 

"Herein!" 

The  door  opened  very  softly,  and  Potugin  en- 
tered the  room. 

Litvinoff  was  extremely  glad  to  see  him. 

"  This  is  delightful! '  he  exclaimed,  warmly 
pressing  the  hand  of  his  unexpected  guest:  — 
"thank  you!  I  should  certainly  have  called  on 
you,  but  you  would  not  tell  me  where  you  live. 
Sit  down,  please,  lay  aside  your  hat.  Sit  down,  I 
say! 

Potugin  made  no  reply  to  Litvinoff's  friendly 

116 


SMOKE 

speeches,  but  stood  shifting  from  foot  to  foot  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  merely  laughed  and 
rocked  his  head.  Litvinoff's  joyous  reception 
evidently  touched  him,  but  there  was  something 
constrained  in  the  expression  of  his  face. 

"  There  .  .  is  a  little  misunderstanding  here 
.  .  ."  he  began,  not  without  hesitation. — "  Of 
course  I  am  always  pleased  .  .  .  but,  to  tell  the 
truth  .  .  I  have  been  sent  to  you." 

"  That  is,  you  mean  to  say,"  remarked  Litvi- 
noff  in  a  mournful  tone, — "  that  you  would  not 
have  come  to  me  of  your  own  accord?  " 

1  O,  no,  good  gracious!  .  .  .  But  I  .  .  I — per- 
haps I  should  not  have  made  up  my  mind  to  in- 
trude upon  you  to-day,  if  I  had  not  been  re- 
quested to  call  on  you.  In  short,  I  have  a  message 
for  you." 

'  From  whom,  permit  me  to  inquire? ' 

"  From  a  person  of  your  acquaintance:  from 
Irina  Pavlovna  Ratmiroff.  Two  days  ago  you 
promised  to  call  upon  her,  and  you  have  not 
done  so." 

LitvinofF  fixed  his  eyes  in  amazement  upon 
Potiigin. 

1  Are  you  acquainted  with  Madame  Ratmi- 
roff?" 

"  As  you  see." 

"  And  do  you  know  her  intimately?  " 

"  I  am  her  friend,  to  a  certain  degree." 

Litvinoff  said  nothing. 

117 


SMOKE 

"Allow  me  to  ask  you,"  he  began  at  last:— 
"  do  you  know  why  Irina  Pavlovna  wishes  to 
see  me?  " 

Potiigin  walked  to  the  window. 

"  Yes,  to  a  certain  extent  I  do  know.  So  far 
as  I  am  able  to  judge,  she  was  greatly  delighted 
at  her  meeting  with  you, — well,  and  so  she  wishes 
to  renew  your  former  relations." 

"  Renew!  "  repeated  Litvinoff.— "  Excuse  my 
indiscretion,  but  permit  me  to  ask  you  still  an- 
other question.  Do  you  know  the  nature  of  those 
relations?  " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,— no,  I  do  not.  But" I  as- 
sume," added  Potiigin,  suddenly  turning  to  Lit- 
vinoff, and  gazing  at  him  in  a  friendly  way:—"  I 
assume  that  they  were  of  a  good  sort.  Irina  Pav- 
lovna praised  you  highly,  and  I  had  to  give 
her  my  word  that  I  would  bring  you.  You  will 
go?" 

"When?" 

"  Now  .  .  .  immediately." 

Litvinoff  merely  flung  out  his  hands  with  a 
gesture  of  surprise. 

"  Irina  Pavlovna,"  went  on  Potiigin,—"  takes 
it  for  granted  that  that  .  .  .  how  shall  I  express 
it  .  .  .  that  set  of  people,  let  us  say,  in  which  you 
found  her  two  days  before  yesterday,  could  not 
have  aroused  any  special  sympathy  in  you;  but 
she  has  commanded  me  to  say  that  the  devil  is  not 
as  black  as  he  is  painted." 

118 


SMOKE 

"  H'm.  ....  Is  that  expression  applied  pre- 
cisely to  that  .  .  .  .  set  ? ' 

"  Yes  .  .  and  in  general." 

"H'm  .  .  .  Well,  and  what  is  your  own  opin- 
ion about  the  devil,  Sozont  Ivanitch?  " 

"  I  think,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  that,  in  any 
case,  he  is  not  what  he  is  represented  to  be." 

"  Is  he  better?  " 

"  Whether  he  is  better  or  worse  it  is  difficult 
to  decide,  but  he  is  not  as  represented.  Well,  how 
is  it  to  be  ?    Shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  You  sit  here  a  while  first.  I  must  confess, 
that  it  strikes  me  as  rather  strange.  ." 

"  What  does,  if  I  may  presume  to  inquire? ' 

"  How  have  you — you  in  particular — been  able 
to  become  the  friend  of  Irina  Pavlovna? ' 

Potiigin  surveyed  himself  with  a  glance. 

"  With  my  figure  and  my  position  in  society, 
it  really  does  seem  incredible;  but  you  know— 
Shakespeare  said : '  There  are  many  things,  friend 
Horatio,'  and  so  forth.  Life  also  does  not  like 
to  jest.  Here  's  a  comparison  for  you :  a  tree 
stands  before  you,  and  there  is  no  wind ;  how  can 
a  leaf  on  the  lowest  bough  touch  a  leaf  on  the 
highest  bough?  In  no  way  whatever.  But  let  a 
storm  arise,  and  everything  gets  mixed  up — and 
those  two  leaves  cpme  into  contact." 

"  Aha!  That  means  that  there  has  been  a 
storm?  " 

"  I  should  yiink  sol    Can  one  get  along  in  life 

119 


SMOKE 

without  storms?  But  away  with  philosophy.  It 
is  time  to  go." 

But  Litvinoff  still  hesitated. 

"O  Lord!"  exclaimed  Potugin,  with  a  com- 
ical grimace: — "  how  queer  the  young  men  have 
become  nowadays!  The  most  charming  of 
women  invites  them  to  her,  sends  a  messenger 
after  them,  a  special  messenger,  and  they  stand 
on  ceremony !  Shame  on  you,  my  dear  sir,  shame 
on  you !  Here  's  your  hat.  Take  it,  and  '  vor- 
tvdrts! '  as  our  friends  the  ardent  Germans  say." 

Litvinoff  still  stood  for  a  space  in  thought,  but 
ended  by  taking  his  hat,  and  sallying  forth  from 
his  chamber  with  Potugin. 


7*0 


XII 

They  came  to  one  of  the  best  hotels  in  Baden,  and 
asked  for  Madame  Ratmiroff.  The  hall-porter 
first  inquired  their  names,  then  immediately  re- 
plied, "  die  Frau  Furstin  ist  zu  House"  and  him- 
self conducted  them  up  the  stairs,  knocked  on  the 
door  of  the  room  with  his  own  hand,  and  an- 
nounced them.  "  Die  Frau  Furstin  "  received 
them  at  once;  she  was  alone:  her  husband  had 
gone  off  to  Karlsruhe  to  meet  an  official  big-wig, 
one  of  "the  influential  personages," who  was  pass- 
ing through.  Irina  was  seated  beside  a  small 
table  and  embroidering  on  canvas  when  Potiigin 
and  LitvinofF  crossed  the  threshold.  She  hastily 
threw  aside  her  sewing,  pushed  the  table  away,  and 
rose;  an  expression  of  unfeigned  satisfaction 
spread  over  her  face.  She  wore  a  morning  gown, 
closed  to  the  throat ;  the  beautiful  outlines  of  her 
shoulders  and  arms  were  visible  throu^li  the  thin 
material;  her  carelessly  twisted  hair  had  become 
loosened,  and  fell  low  on  her  slender  neck.  Irina 
cast  a  swift  glance  at  Potugin,  whispered 
"merci,"  and  offered  her  hand  to  Litvinoff ,  amia- 
bly reproaching  him  for  his  forgetfulness.  "  And 
an  old  friend  at  that,"  she  added. 

121 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff  began  to  make  excuses.  "  C'est  bien, 
cest  bien/'  she  said  hastily,  and  taking  his  hat 
from  him  with  gracious  force,  she  made  him  sit 
down.  Potugin  also  seated  himself,  but  imme- 
diately rose,  and  saying  that  he  had  business  which 
could  not  be  deferred,  and  that  he  would  drop  in 
after  dinner,  he  took  his  leave.  Irina  again  threw 
him  a  swift  glance  and  gave  him  a  friendly  nod, 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  disappeared  behind  the  por- 
tiere, she  turned  to  Litvinoff  with  impatient 
vivacity. 

"  Grigory  Mikhaflovitch,"  she  began  in  Rus- 
sian, in  her  soft  and  resonant  voice: — "here  we 
are  alone  at  last,  and  I  can  say  to  you  that  I  am 
very  glad  of  our  meeting,  because  it  ...  it  af- 
fords me  the  opportunity  .  .  ."  (Irina  looked  him 
straight  in  the  face),  "to  ask  your  forgiveness." 

Litvinoff  involuntarily  shuddered.  He  had 
not  anticipated  such  a  rapid  attack.  He  had  not 
anticipated  that  she  herself  would  turn  the  con- 
versation on  bygone  days. 

"  For  what  .  .  forgiveness  .  .  ."  he  stam- 
mered out. 

Irina  blushed. 

"  For  what?  .  .  you  know  for  what,"  she  said, 
and  turned  aside  a  little.  —  "  I  was  to  blame  to- 
ward you,  Grigory  Mikhailitch  .  .  although,  of 
course,  such  was  my  fate  "  (Litvinoff  recalled  her 
letter),  "  and  I  do  not  regret  it  .  .  in  any  case, 
it  would  be  too  late;  but  when  I  met  you  so  un- 

122 


SMOKE 

expectedly,  I  said  to  myself  that  we  must  become 
friends  without  fail— without  fail  .  .  .  and  I 
should  have  felt  deeply  pained  if  it  had  not  suc- 
ceeded .  .  .  and  it  seems  to  me,  that  to  that  end, 
you  and  I  must  have  an  explanation  without 
delay,  and  once  for  all,  in  order  that  thereafter 
there  might  be  no  .  .  .  gene,  no  awkwardness, 
—once  for  all,— Grigory  Mikhailovitch ;  and  that 
you  ought  to  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me, 
otherwise  I  shall  suspect  in  you  .  .  .  de  la  ran- 
cune.  Voila!  It  may  be  a  great  piece  of  assump- 
tion on  my  part,  because  you,  in  all  probability, 
have  long  ago  forgotten  everything,  but,  never- 
theless, do  tell  me  that  you  have  forgiven  me." 

Irina  uttered  this  entire  speech  without  taking 
breath,  and  Litvinoff  could  see  that  tears  glis- 
tened in  her  eyes  .  .  yes,  actually  tears. 

"Pray,  Irina  Pavlovna,"  he  hastily  began: — 
"  are  n't  you  ashamed  to  excuse  yourself,  to  ask 
forgiveness  .  .  it  is  an  affair  of  the  past,  it  has 
utterly  lapsed  out  of  existence,  and  I  can  but  feel 
surprised  that  you,  in  the  midst  of  the  splendour 
which  surrounds  you,  can  still  have  preserved  a 
memory  of  the  gloomy  companion  of  your  early 
youth.  .  ." 

"  Does  that  surprise  you  ?  "  said  Irina  softly. 

'  It    touches    me,"    replied    Litvinoff: — "  be- 
cause I  could  not  possibly  imagine  .  .  ." 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me  that  you  have 
forgiven  me,"  interrupted  Irina. 

123 


SMOKE 

"  I  rejoice  sincerely  in  your  happiness,  Irina 
Pavlovna;  with  all  my  soul  I  wish  you  the  very 
best  on  earth.  ..." 

"  And  you  bear  no  ill-will?  " 

"  I  remember  only  those  fair  moments,  for 
which  I  was,  in  times  past,  indebted  to  you." 

Irina  extended  both  her  hands  to  him.  Litvi- 
noff  pressed  them  warmly,  and  did  not  imme- 
diately release  them.  ...  A  mysterious  some- 
thing which  had  long  ceased  to  exist  began  to  stir 
in  hy»  heart  at  that  soft  contact.  Again  Irina 
looked  him  straight  in  the  face;  but  this  time  he 
smiled. .  .  And  for  the  first  time  he  gazed  directly 
and  intently  at  her.  .  .  Again  he  recognised  the 
features,  once  so  dear,  and  those  deep  eyes  with 
their  unusual  lashes,  and  the  little  mole  on  the 
cheek,  and  the  peculiar  sweep  of  the  hair  above 
the  brow,  and  her  habit  of  curling  her  lips  in  a 
certain  gracious  and  amusing  way,  and  of  im- 
parting to  her  eyebrows  the  suspicion  of  a  quiver, 
he  recognised  all,  all.  .  .  But  how  much  more 
beautiful  she  had  grown!  What  charm  and 
power  in  the  young  feminine  body!  And  there 
was  neither  red  paint,  nor  white,  nor  blackening 
for  the  eyebrows,  nor  powder,  nor  any  sort  of 
artificiality  on  the  fresh,  pure  face.  .  .  Yes,  she 
was  a  real  beauty ! 

A  meditative  mood  took  possession  of  Litvi- 
noff.  .  .  .  He  continued  to  gaze  at  her,  but  his 
thoughts  were  already  far  away.  .  .  Irina  ob- 
served this. 

124 


SMOKE 

"Well,  that's  capital,"  she  said  aloud:— 
"  Well,  now  my  conscience  is  at  ease,  and  I  can 
satisfy  my  curiosity.  ..." 

"  Curiosity,"  repeated  Litvinoff ,  as  though  in 
perplexity. 

"  Yes,  yes.  .  .  I  insist  upon  knowing  what  you 
have  been  doing  all  this  time,  what  your  plans 
are;  I  want  to  know  everything  just  the  same  as 
when  .  .  .  everything,  everything  .  .  .  and  you 
must  tell  me  the  truth,  because,  I  warn  you,  that 
I  have  not  lost  sight  of  you  ...  so  far  as  that 
has  been  possible.  .  ." 

"  You  have  not  lost  sight  of  me,  you  .  .  .  there 
.  .  in  Petersburg? " 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  splendour  which  sur- 
rounds me,  as  you  just  expressed  it.  Yes,  ex- 
actly that ;  I  have  not  lost  sight  of  you.  You  and 
I  will  discuss  the  splendour  later  on ;  but  now  you 
must  narrate  to  me  a  great  deal,  narrate  at 
length;  no  one  will  disturb  us.  Akh,  how  splen- 
did that  will  be!"  added  Irina,  merrily,  seating 
herself  in  an  arm-chair  and  putting  on  a  pretty 
air.—"  Come,  now,  begin." 

"  Before  I  tell  my  story,  I  must  thank  you," 
began  Litvinoff. 

"  What  for? " 

"  For  the  bouquet  of  flowers  which  made  its 
appearance  in  my  chamber." 

"  What  bouquet?    I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"What?" 

"  I  tell  you,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  .  .  But 

J  25 


SMOKE 

I  am  waiting  .  .  .  waiting  for  your  story.— Akh, 
what  a  clever  fellow  that  Potugin  is  to  have 
brought  you!  " 

Litvinoff  pricked  up  his  ears. 

1  Have  you  been  acquainted  long  with  that  Mr. 
Potugin?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  for  a  long  time  .  .  .  but  tell  your  story." 

"  And  do  you  know  him  intimately? ' 

"  Oh,  yes!  "— Irina  sighed.—"  There  are  pecu- 
liar reasons  for  it.  .  .  You  have  heard  of  Eliza 
Byelsky,  of  course.  .  .  The  one  who  died  such  a 
frightful  death  last  year?— Akh,  yes,  I  had  for- 
gotten that  our  stories  are  not  known  to  you. 
Happily,  happily,  you  do  not  know  them.  Oh, 
quelle  chance!  at  last,  at  last,  there  is  one  man, 
a  live  man,  who  knows  none  of  our  affairs! 
And  one  can  talk  Russian  with  him,  bad 
Russian,  but  Russian  all  the  same,  and  not 
that  eternal,  affected,  repulsive  Petersburg 
French!" 

1  And  you  say  that  Potugin  had  some  connec- 
tion with  ..." 

"  It  is  very  painful  to  me  to  recall  that,"  inter- 
posed Irina.  — "  Eliza  was  my  best  friend  at  the 
Institute,  and  afterward,  in  Petersburg,  we  saw 
each  other  constantly.  She  confided  to  me  all  her 
secrets :  she  was  very  unhappy,  she  suffered  much. 
Potugin  behaved  splendidly  in  that  affair,  like  a 
genuine  knight!  He  sacrificed  himself.  It  was 
only  then  that  I  prized  him  at  his  true  value  I    But 

126 


SMOKE 

we  have  digressed  again.    I  am  waiting  for  your 
story,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch." 

"  But  my,  story  cannot  in  the  least  interest  you, 
Irina  Pavlovna." 

"  That  is  no  concern  of  yours." 

"  Remember,  Irina  Pavlovna,  we  have  not  met 
for  ten  years.  How  much  has  happened,— how 
much  water  has  flowed  past  since  then ! ' 

"Not  water  only!  not  water  only!'  she  re- 
peated, with  a  peculiar,  bitter  expression:—"  and 
that  is  why  I  wish  to  hear  you.  .  ." 

"  And,  moreover,  I  really  cannot  think  where 
to  begin." 

"  At  the  beginning.  From  the  very  time  when 
you  .  .  .  when  I  went  away  to  Petersburg.  You 
then  remained  in  Moscow.  .  .  Do  you  know,  I 
have  never  been  back  to  Moscow  since  that 
day! " 

"Really?" 

"  At  first  it  was  not  possible,  and  afterward, 
when  I  married  .  .  ." 

"  And  have  you  been  married  long? ' 

"  Three  years." 

"  You  have  no  children?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  drily. 

Litvinoff  fell  silent. 

"  And  until  your  marriage  you  lived  altogether 
with  that— what 's  his  name— Count  Reisen- 
bach?" 

Irina  contemplated  him  fixedly,  as  though  de- 

127 


SMOKE 

sirous  of  comprehending  why  he  asked  that  ques- 
tion. 

"  No  .  .  ."  she  said  at  last. 

"  Consequently,  your  parents.  .  .  By  the  way, 
I  have  not  asked  you  about  them.  How  are 
they?  .  .  ." 

"  They  are  both  well." 

"  And  they  live  in  Moscow  as  formerly? ' 

"  Yes." 

"  And  your  brothers  and  sisters?  " 

"All  is  well  with  them;  I  have  provided  for 
them  all." 

"  Ah!  "— Litvinoff  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Irina.  — "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it 
is  not  I  who  ought  to  relate  the  story,  but  you, 
if  only  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  caught  himself  up,  and  stopped 
speaking. 

Irina  raised  her  hands  to  her  face,  and  began  to 
twist  her  wedding  ring  round  on  her  finger. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  do  not  refuse,"  she 
said  at  last. — "  Some  time,  if  you  like.  .  .  But 
it  is  your  turn  first  .  .  because,  you  see,  I 
have  kept  watch  over  you,  yet  I  know  almost 
nothing  about  you;  but  about  me  .  .  .  well, 
about  me,  you  surely  must  have  heard  a  good 
deal.  Is  n't  that  true?  Tell  me,  you  have  heard 
things? " 

"  You  have  occupied  too  prominent  a  place  in 
the  world,  Irina  Pavlovna,  not  to  start  rumours 

128 


SMOKE 

.  .  .  especially  in  the  country  districts  where  I 
was,  and  where  every  rumour  is  believed." 

"And  you  believed  those  rumours?  And  of 
what  sort  were  they?  " 

"  I  must  confess,  Irina  Pavlovna,  that  those 
rumours  very  rarely  reached  my  ears.  I  led  an 
extremely  isolated  life." 

"  How  so?  Were  not  you  in  the  Crimea,  in 
the  militia?  " 

"  And  is  that  known  to  you?  " 

"  As  you  see.  I  tell  you  that  you  were 
watched." 

Again  Litvinoff  was  forced  to  wonder. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  what  is  already  known 
to  you  without  that?  "  said  Litvinoff,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Because  .  .  because  .  .  in  order  to  comply 
with  my  request.  I  entreat  you,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailovitch." 

Litvinoff  inclined  his  head,  and  began  .  .  .  be- 
gan rather  confusedly,  in  general  outlines,  to 
communicate  to  Irina  his  far  from  complicated 
adventures.  He  paused  frequently,  and  cast  an  in- 
quiring glance  at  Irina,  as  much  as  to  say:  "  Is  n't 
this  enough? '  But  she  insistently  demanded  that 
he  should  continue  his  narration,  and  pushing  her 
hair  back  behind  her  ears,  and  resting  her  elbows 
on  the  arms  of  the  easy -chair,  seemed  to  be  seizing 
every  word  with  strained  attention.  Any  one 
looking  at  her  from  a  distance,  and  watching  the 

129 


SMOKE 

expression  of  her  face,  might  have  thought  that 
she  was  not  listening  to  what  Litvinoff  was  tell- 
ing her,  but  was  merely  immersed  in  meditation. 
.  .  But  she  was  not  meditating  upon  Litvinoff, 
although  he  became  embarrassed,  and  flushed 
crimson  beneath  her  persistent  gaze.  Before  her 
had  started  forth  a  whole  life,  another  life,  not 
his— her  own  life. 

Litvinoff  did  not  finish,  but  fell  silent,  under 
the  influence  of  a  disagreeable  sensation  of  con- 
stantly augmenting,  inward  discomfort.  This 
time  Irina  said  nothing  to  him,  did  not  ask  him 
to  continue,  and  pressing  her  palm  to  her  eyes, 
as  though  weary,  she  slowly  leaned  against  the 
back  of  her  chair  and  remained  motionless.  Lit- 
vinoff waited  a  while,  and  reflecting  that  his  visit 
had  already  lasted  more  than  two  hours,  was  on 
the  point  of  extending  his  hand  to  take  his  hat, 
when  suddenly,  in  the  adjoining  room,  the  swift 
squeak  of  thin,  lacquered  boots  resounded,  and, 
preceded  by  that  same  odour  of  nobility  and  the 
Guards,  Valerian  Vladimirovitch  RatmirofF  en- 
tered the  room. 

Litvinoff  rose  from  his  chair,  and  exchanged 
a  bow  with  the  good-looking  general.  But  Irina, 
without  any  haste,  removed  her  hand  from  her 
face,  and  bestowing  a  cold  glance  upon  her  hus- 
band, remarked,  in  French: — "  Ah!  So  you  have 
returned!    But  what  time  is  it?  " 

"  It  is  almost  four  o'clock,  ma  chere  amie,  and 

130 


SMOKE 

you  are  not  yet  dressed— the  Princess  will  be  wait- 
ing for  us,"  replied  the  general,  and  with  an  ele- 
gant inclination  of  his  body  in  the  direction  of 
Litvinoff,  with  the  almost  effeminate  playfulness 
in  his  voice  which  was  peculiar  to  him,  he  added: 
— "  Evidently,  your  amiable  guest  has  made  you 
forget  the  time." 

The  reader  will  permit  us  to  impart  to  him,  at 
this  point,  a  few  facts  concerning  General  Rat- 
miroff.  His  father  was  the  natural  .  .  .  what 
do  you  think?  You  are  not  mistaken,  but  we  did 
not  wish  to  say  it  .  .  .  the  natural  son  of  a  prom- 
inent grandee  of  the  times  of  Alexander  I.,  and 
of  a  pretty  little  French  actress.  The  grandee 
had  opened  a  career  for  his  son,  but  had  left  him 
no  property,— and  that  son  (the  father  of  our 
hero)  had  not  succeeded  in  becoming  rich  either: 
he  had  died  with  the  rank  of  colonel,  in  the  voca- 
tion of  chief  of  police.  A  year  before  his  death 
he  had  married  a  pretty  young  widow,  who  had 
been  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  his  protection. 
His  son  and  the  widow's,  Valerian  Vladimiro- 
vitch,  having  got  into  the  Pages  Corps  through 
influence,  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  au- 
thorities— not  so  much  by  proficiency  in  his  stud- 
ies as  by  his  military  bearing,  his  good  manners, 
and  his  good  morals  (although  he  had  been  sub- 
jected to  everything,  which  all  former  pupils  of 
the  government  military  institutions  must  under- 
go),—and  had  graduated  into  the  Guards.     He 

131 


SMOKE 

had  made  a  brilliant  career,  thanks  to  the  modest 
gaiety  of  his  disposition,  his  skill  in  dancing,  his 
masterly  riding  as  orderly  officer  at  parades — 
mostly  on  other  people's  horses— and,  in  conclu- 
sion, to  a  special  art  of  familiarly-respectful  be- 
haviour toward  the  loftiest  personages,  a  mourn- 
fully-caressing, almost  forlorn,  obsequiousness, 
not  devoid  of  a  dash  of  liberalism,  light  as  down. 
.  .  This  liberalism  did  not  prevent  him,  neverthe- 
less, from  soundly  flogging  fifty  peasants  in  a 
revolted  White  Russian  village,  which  he  had  been 
sent  to  pacify.  He  was  the  possessor  of  an  at- 
tractive and  extremely  youthful  exterior ;  smooth, 
ruddy,  supple  and  adhesive:  he  enjoyed  remark- 
able success  with  the  women:  distinguished  old 
ladies  fairly  went  wild  over  him.  Cautious  by 
habit,  taciturn  through  calculation,  General  Rat- 
miroff,  like  the  industrious  bee,  which  extracts 
juice  even  from  wretched  flowers,  was  constantly 
circulating  in  the  highest  society— and,  devoid  of 
morality,  devoid  of  every  sort  of  knowledge,  but 
with  the  reputation  of  a  capable  man,  with  a  good 
scent  for  people,  and  comprehension  of  circum- 
stances, and  chief  of  all— with  an  inflexibly  firm 
desire  of  good  things  for  himself — he  at  last  saw 
all  roads  open  before  him.  .  . 

Litvinoff  smiled  in  a  constrained  way  and  Irina 
merely  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  in  the  same  cold  tone,—"  did 
you  see  the  Count?  " 

132 


SMOKE 

"Of  course  I  saw  him.  He  asked  to  be  remem- 
bered to  you." 

"  Ah!  Is  he  still  as  stupid  as  ever,  that  pro- 
tector of  yours? " 

General  Ratmiroff  made  no  reply,  and  only 
laughed  a  little  through  his  nose,  as  though  mak- 
ing allowance  for  the  precipitancy  of  woman's 
judgment.  Benevolent  adults  reply  to  the  absurd 
sallies  of  children  with  precisely  that  sort  of  a 
laugh. 

"  Yes,"  added  Irina:— "  the  stupidity  of  your 
Count  is  too  astounding,  and  it  strikes  me  that  I 
have  had  plenty  of  opportunity  to  observe  it." 

"  It  was  you  yourself  who  sent  me  to  him,"  re- 
marked the  general,  through  his  teeth,  and  turn- 
ing to  Litvinoff,  he  asked  him,  in  Russian:— 
"  Was  he  undergoing  a  cure  of  the  Baden 
waters? " 

"lam  well,  thank  God,"  replied  Litvinoff. 

"  That 's  the  best  thing  of  all,"  went  on  the 
general,  with  an  amiable  grin:  — "yes,  and  in 
general,  people  do  not  come  to  Baden  for  the  sake 
of  taking  the  cure;  but  the  waters  here  are  very 
efficacious,  je  veux  dire,  efficaces;  and  for  any  one 
who,  like  myself,  for  instance,  is  suffering  from 
a  nervous  cough.  .  .  ." 

Irina  rose  in  haste.—"  We  shall  meet  again, 
Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  and  that  soon,  I  hope,"— 
she  said  in  French,  scornfully  interrupting  her 
husband's  speech:— "but  now  I  must  go  and 

133 


SMOKE 

dress.  That  old  Princess  is  insufferable  with  her 
eternal  parties  de  plaisir,  where  there  is  nothing 
but  tedium." 

"  You  are  very  severe  on  everything  to-day," 
muttered  her  husband,  and  slipped  into  the  other 
room. 

Litvinoff  went  toward  the  door. 

"  You  have  told  me  everything,"  she  said,  "  but 
you  have  concealed  the  principal  thing." 

"  What  is  that?  " 

"  It  is  said  that  you  are  going  to  marry? ' 

Litvinoff  crimsoned  to  his  very  ears.  .  .  In 
fact,  he  had  deliberately  refrained  from  mention- 
ing Tanya;  but  he  felt  frightfully  vexed,  in  the 
first  place,  because  Irina  knew  about  his  mar- 
riage, and  in  the  second,  because  she  had  caught 
him,  as  it  were,  in  a  desire  to  hide  the  marriage 
from  her.  Decidedly,  he  did  not  know  what  to 
say,  but  Irina  never  took  her  eyes  from  him. 

■  Yes,  I  am  about  to  marry,"  he  said  at  last, 
and  immediately  took  his  departure. 

Ratmiroff  returned  to  the  room. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  get  dressed?'  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Go  alone;  my  head  aches." 

"  But  the  Princess  .  .  ." 

Irina  measured  her  husband  with  a  glance  from 
head  to  foot,  turned  her  back  on  him,  and  went 
off  to  her  dressing-room. 


134 


XIII 

LitvInoff  was  extremely  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self, as  though  he  had  lost  money  at  roulette,  or 
had  broken  his  pledged  word.  .  An  inward  voice 
told  him,  that  as  an  affianced  bridegroom,  as  a 
staid  grown  man,  and  no  longer  a  boy,  it  was  not 
proper  for  him  to  listen  to  the  instigations  of  curi- 
osity, nor  to  the  seductions  of  memory.  "  Much 
need  there  was  for  me  to  go!  "  he  argued.  "  On 
her  side  it  was  nothing  but  coquetry,  a  whim,  ca- 
price. .  She  is  bored,  she  has  grown  tired  of  every 
thing,  she  caught  at  me  ...  a  dainty  person 
sometimes  suddenly  longs  for  black  bread  .  .  . 
well,  and  that 's  all  right.  But  why  did  I  run  to 
her?  Could  I  .  .  help  despising  her? '  This 
last  word  he  did  not  utter,  even  mentally,  without 
an  effort.—"  Of  course,  there  is  no  danger  what- 
ever, and  there  can  be  none  " :  he  resumed  his  ar- 
gument. "  For  I  know  with  whom  I  have  to  deal. 
But,  nevertheless,  one  should  not  play  with  fire. 
.  .  I  won't  set  foot  in  her  house  again."  Litvi- 
noff  did  not  dare,  or  could  not  yet,  admit  to  him- 
self, to  what  a  degree  Irina  had  seemed  beautiful 
to  him,  and  how  powerfully  she  had  aroused  his 
emotion. 

135 


SMOKE 

Again  the  day  passed  in  a  dull  and  languid 
manner.  At  dinner  he  chanced  to  sit  beside  a  "  bel 
homme"  of  fine  bearing,  with  dyed  moustache, 
who  uttered  not  a  word,  but  merely  puffed  and 
opened  his  eyes  very  wide  .  .  .  but,  being  sud- 
denly seized  with  hiccough,  proved  to  be  a  fellow- 
countryman,  for  he  instantly  said  in  Russian: 
"  Did  n'tl  say  that  I  ought  not  to  eat  melons! ' 
In  the  evening  also  nothing  cheering  happened: 
Bindasoff,  before  Litvinoff's  very  eyes,  won  a 
sum  four  times  as  large  as  the  one  he  had  bor- 
rowed from  him,  but  not  only  did  not  repay 
the  debt,  but  even  looked  him  in  the  face  with  a 
menacing  glance,  as  though  preparing  to  casti- 
gate him  even  more  painfully  for  having  been  a 
witness  of  his  winnings.  On  the  following  morn- 
ing the  horde  of  fellow-countrymen  descended 
upon  him  again ;  it  was  with  difficulty  that  Litvi- 
noff  got  rid  of  them,  and  betaking  himself  to  the 
mountains,  hit  upon  Irina  the  very  first  thing- 
he  pretended  that  he  did  not  recognise  her,  and 
passed  swiftly  by ;— then  on  Potiigin.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  entering  into  conversation  with  Po- 
tiigin, but  the  latter  answered  him  unwillingly. 
He  was  leading  by  the  hand  a  smartly  attired  lit- 
tle girl,  with  fluffy,  almost  white  locks,  great  dark 
eyes  in  a  pale,  sickly  little  face,  and  that  peculiar 
imperious,  impatient  expression,  which  is  charac- 
teristic of  spoiled  children.  Litvinoff  spent  a 
couple  of  hours  on  the  mountains,  and  then  re- 

136 


SMOKE 

turned  home,  along  Lichtenthaler  Avenue.  .  .  . 
A  lady  with  a  blue  veil  over  her  face,  who  was 
sitting  on  a  bench,  hastily  rose  and  approached 
him.  .  .  He  recognised  Irina. 

'  Why  do  you  avoid  me,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch,"  she  said  in  an  unsteady  voice,  such  as  a 
person  uses  whose  heart  is  seething. 

Litvinoff  was  embarrassed.  —  "  Do  I  avoid  you, 
Irina  Pavlovna? " 

"  Yes,  you  .  .  .  you  .  .  .  ." 

Irina  seemed  agitated,  almost  incensed. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  I  assure  you." 

"  No,  I  am  not  mistaken.  Did  not  I  see  this 
morning— when  we  met, — did  not  I  see  that  you 
knew  me?  Tell  me,  didn't  you  recognise  me? 
Tell  me?" 

"  I  really  .  .  Irina  Pavlovna  ..." 

"  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  you  are  a  straight- 
forward man,  you  have  always  spoken  the  truth: 
tell  me— tell  me,  surely  you  recognised  me?  you 
turned  aside  deliberately." 

Litvinoff  glanced  at  Irina.  Her  eyes  shone 
with  a  strange  brilliancy,  but  her  lips  and  cheeks 
gleamed  with  a  death-like  pallor  through  the  close 
meshes  of  her  veil.  In  the  expression  of  her  face, 
in  the  very  sound  of  her  impetuous  whisper,  there 
was  something  so  irresistibly  mournful,  beseech- 
ing. .  .  .  Litvinoff  could  dissimulate  no  longer. 

"  Yes.  .  .  I  recognised  you,"  he  said,  not  with- 
out an  effort. 

137 


SMOKE 

Irina  shuddered  softly,  and  softly  dropped  her 
hands. 

"  Why  did  not  you  come  to  me? "  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Because  .  .  .  because!" — Litvinoff  stepped 
aside  from  the  path.  Irina  silently  followed  him. 
— "Why?"  he  repeated,  and  his  face  suddenly 
lighted  up,  and  a  feeling  akin  to  malice  oppressed 
his  chest  and  his  throat. — "  You  .  .  .  you  ask 
that,  after  all  that  has  taken  place  between  us? 
Not  now,  of  course,  not  now,  but  there  .  .  .  there 
...  in  Moscow." 

"  But  surely,  you  and  I  decided,  surely  you 
promised  .  .  ."  Irina  began. 

"  I  promised  nothing.  Pardon  the  harshness 
of  my  expressions,  but  you  demand  the  truth — 
therefore  judge  for  yourself:  to  what,  if  not  to 
coquetry, — which  is,  I  confess,  incomprehensible 
to  me, — to  what,  if  not  to  a  desire  to  try  how  much 
power  you  still  possess  over  me,  can  I  attribute 
your  .  .  I  do  not  know  what  to  call  it  .  .  .  your 
persistence  ?  Our  paths  have  become  so  widely 
separated!  I  have  forgotten  everything,  I  have 
long  ago  lived  down  the  pain  of  it  all,  I  have  be- 
come an  entirely  different  man;  you  are  married, 
happy,  in  appearance  at  least;  you  enjoy  an  en- 
viable position  in  society;  why  then,  to  what  end, 
a  renewal  of  acquaintance?  What  am  I  to  you, 
what  are  you  to  me  ?  We  cannot  understand  each 
other  now,  we  have  absolutely  nothing  in  common 

138 


SMOKE 

now,  either  in  the  past  or  in  the  present!  Espe- 
cially .  .  .  especially  in  the  past!" 

Litvinoff  pronounced  the  whole  of  this  speech 
hurriedly,  abruptly,  without  turning  his  head. 
Irina  did  not  stir,  and  only  from  time  to  time, 
almost  imperceptibly,  extended  her  hands  toward 
him,  She  seemed  to  be  entreating  him  to  stop  and 
listen  to  her,  and  at  his  last  words  slightly  bit  her 
under  lip,  as  though  crushing  down  a  sentiment 
of  keen,  swift  injury. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"  she  began  at  last,  in 
a  more  composed  voice,  and  retreated  still  further 
from  the  path,  along  which,  now  and  then,  people 
passed.  .  . 

Litvinoff,  in  turn,  followed  her. 

'  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  believe  me :  if  I  could 
have  imagined  that  I  still  retained  an  atom  of 
power  over  you,  I  would  have  been  the  first  to 
avoid  you.  If  I  did  not  do  so,  if  I  made  up  my 
mind,  in  spite  of  ...  of  my  past  fault,  to  renew 
acquaintance  with  you,  it  was  because  .  .  .  be- 
cause .  .  . 

I  Because? '  inquired  Litvinoff,  almost 
roughly. 

'  Because,"  replied  Irina,  with  sudden  force: 
— "  because  that  society,  that  enviable  position  of 
which  you  speak,  have  become  unbearable,  insuf- 
ferable to  me;  because,  on  meeting  you,  a  live 
man,  after  all  those  dead  dolls — you  were  able  to 
view  specimens  of  them  three  days  ago  at  the 

130. 


SMOKE 

Vieux  Chateau,— I  rejoiced  as  at  a  well  in  the 
desert,  but  you  call  me  a  coquette,  and  suspect 
me,  and  repulse  me  under  the  pretext  that  I  really 
was  to  blame  toward  you,  and  still  more  toward 
myself!  " 

"  You  chose  your  own  destiny,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna,"  said  Litvinoff  surlily,  and  still  without 
turning  his  head. 

"  I  did,  I  did  .  .  .  and  I  do  not  complain;  I 
have  no  right  to  complain,"  hastily  said  Irina,  to 
whom  Litvinoff 's  very  sternness  afforded  secret 
delight; — "  I  know  that  you  must  condemn  me, 
and  I  do  not  defend  myself;  I  only  wish  to  ex- 
plain to  you  my  sentiment,  I  wish  to  convince  you 
that  I  am  not  disposed  to  coquet  now.  .  I  coquet 
with  you!  Why,  there  is  no  sense  in  that!  .  .  . 
When  I  saw  you,  all  that  was  good,  all  that  was 
young  in  me,  awoke  .  .  .  the  time  when  I  had 
not  yet  chosen  my  destiny,  everything  which  lies 
there  in  that  bright  zone,  beyond  those  ten 
years.  .  .  ." 

"  But  permit  me,  at  last,  Irina  Pavlovna!  So 
far  as  I  am  aware,  the  bright  zone  in  your  life 
began  precisely  with  the  moment  of  our 
parting.  .  ." 

Irina  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips. 

"  What  you  say  is  very  cruel,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailovitch ;  but  I  cannot  be  angry  with  you.  Oh, 
no,  that  was  not  a  brilliant  time;  it  was  not  for 
my  happiness  that  I  quitted  Moscow.  Not  one  in- 

140, 


SMOKE 

stant,  not  one  minute  of  happiness  have  I  known 
.  .  .  believe  me,  whatever  you  may  have  been  told. 
If  I  had  been  happy,  could  I  talk  with  you  as  I 
am  doing  now?  .  .  I  repeat  it,  you  do  not  know 
what  those  people  are  like.  .  Why,  they  under- 
stand nothing,  sympathise  with  nothing,  they 
have  not  even  any  minds,  ni  esprit,  ni  intelligence, 
but  only  cunning  and  tact ;  why,  in  reality,  music, 
poetry,  and  art  are  alike  unknown  *to  them.  .  . 
You  will  say  that  I  myself  was  fairly  indifferent 
to  all  this;  but  not  to  that  degree,  Grigory  Mi- 
khaflovitch  .  .  .  not  to  that  degree!  It  is  not  a 
fashionable  woman  whom  you  now  see  before 
you.  You  have  only  to  look  at  me,  not  a  lioness 
...  it  seems  that  is  what  we  are  called  .  .  .  but 
a  poor,  poor  creature,  who  is  really  deserving  of 
compassion.  Be  not  astonished  at  my  words.  .  . 
I  am  not  disposed  to  be  proud  now!  I  reach  out 
my  hand  to  you  as  a  beggar,  understand  it,  at 
last,  as  a  beggar.  .  .  I  entreat  alms,"  she  added 
suddenly,  in  an  involuntary,  irrepressible  im- 
pulse:— "  I  ask  for  alms,  and  you  .  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  failed  her.  Litvinoff  raised  his  head 
and  looked  at  Irina;  she  was  breathing  rapidly, 
her  lips  were  quivering.  His  heart  suddenly  be- 
gan to  beat  hard,  and  his  feeling  of  wrath  van- 
ished. 

"  You  say  that  our  paths  have  parted,"  re- 
sumed Irina: — "I  know  you  are  marrying  for 
love;  you  have  the  plan  for  your  whole  life  al- 

141 


SMOKE 

ready  drawn  up ;  yes,  it  is  so ;  but  we  have  not  be- 
come strangers  to  each  other,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch,  we  can  still  understand  each  other.  Or  do 
you  suppose  that  I  have  become  utterly  stupid — 
that  I  have  become  utterly  mired  in  this  swamp? 
Akh,  no,  do  not  think  that,  please!  Let  me  ease 
my  soul,  I  beg  of  you,  if  only  in  the  name  of  those 
by-gone  days,  if  you  are  not  bent  on  forgetting 
them.  Let  not  our  meeting  have  been  in  vain; 
that  would  be  too  bitter,  and  it  will  not  last  long, 
in  any  case.  .  .1  do  not  know  how  to  express 
myself  as  I  should ;  but  do  understand  me,  for  I 
ask  little,  very  little  .  .  .  only  a  trifle  of  happi- 
ness, only  that  you  will  not  repulse  me,  that  you 
will  give  me  a  chance  to  ease  my  soul.  .  ." 

Irina  paused,  tears  resounded  in  her  voice.  She 
sighed  and  gazed  at  Litvinoff  with  a  timid,  rather 
sidelong,  searching  glance,  and  offered  him  her 
hand.  .  . 

Litvinoff  slowly  took  that  hand,  and  faintly 
pressed  it. 

"  Let  us  be  friends,"  whispered  Irina. 

"  Friends,"  repeated  Litvinoff  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  friends  .  .  .  but  if  that  is  too  great  a 
demand,  then  let  us  be,  at  least,  good  acquain- 
tances. .  .  Let  us  not  stand  on  ceremony— just 
as  though  nothing  had  ever  happened.  .  .  ." 

'  As  though  nothing  had  ever  happened  .  ." 
repeated  LitvinofF  again. — "  You  just  told  me, 
Irina  Pavlovna,  that  I  am  not  willing  to  forget 

142 


SMOKE 

by-gone  days. .  Well,  and  what  if  I  cannot  forget 
them?" 

A  blissful  smile  flashed  across  Irina's  face,  and 
instantly  vanished,  making  way  for  an  anxious, 
almost  terrified  expression. 

'Do  as  I  do,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch:  remem- 
ber only  what  is  pleasant ;  but,  above  all,  give  me 
your  word  now,  your  word  of  honour.  .  ." 

"What  about?" 

"  Not  to  avoid  me  .  .  .  not  to  grieve  me  need- 
lessly. .  .  Do  you  promise?  tell  me!  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  banish  all  evil  thoughts  from 
your  mind?  " 

"  Yes  .  .  .  but  I  still  renounce  the  effort  to 
understand  you." 

"  That  is  not  necessary  .  .  wait,  however,  and 
you  will  understand  me.     But  you  promise? ' 

"  I  have  already  said:  Yes." 

"  Thanks.  Observe  that  I  have  become  accus- 
tomed to  believe  you.  I  shall  expect  you  to-day 
or  to-morrow;  I  shall  not  leave  the  house.  But 
now  I  must  leave  you.  The  Duchess  is  walking 
in  the  avenue.  .  .  She  has  seen  me,  and  I  cannot 
avoid  going  to  her.  .  .  Until  we  meet  again.  .  . 
Give  me  your  hand,  vite,  vite.  .  Farewell  for  the 
present." 

And  with  a  vigorous  clasp  of  Litvfnoff's  hand, 
Irina  directed  her  steps  toward  a  middle-aged 
person  who  was  walking  heavily  along  the  sanded 

143 


SMOKE 

path,  accompanied  by  two  other  ladies  and  a  very 
good-looking  lackey. 

"  Eh,  bonjour,  chere  madame"  said  this  per- 
son, while  Irina  respectfully  courtesied  before 
her.— "  Comment  allez-vous  aujourd'hui?  Venez 
un  peu  avec  moi"—c  Votre  Altesse  a  trop  de 
bonte"  Irina's  insinuating  voice  could  be  heard 
in  reply. 


144 


XIV 

Litvinoff  allowed  the  Duchess  and  all  her  suite 
to  depart,  and  then  emerged  upon  the  avenue 
himself.  He  could  not  give  himself  a  clear  ac- 
count of  his  sensations ;  he  felt  both  ashamed  and 
alarmed,  and  his  self-love  was  flattered.  .  .  The 
unexpected  explanation  with  Irina  had  taken  him 
unawares ;  her  burning,  hurried  words  had  swept 
over  him  like  a  downpour  of  rain.  "  Queer  peo- 
ple those  society  women,"  he  thought; — "  there  's 
no  coherence  about  them  .  .  .  and  how  the  circle 
in  which  they  live  perverts  them,  and  the  anoma- 
lousness  of  it  they  feel  themselves!'  .  .  .  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  think  that  at  all,  but 
was  merely  repeating  mechanically  those  hack- 
neyed phrases,  as  though  desirous  thereby  of  rid- 
ding himself  of  other  and  more  painful  thoughts. 
He  comprehended  that  it  ill-befitted  him  to  medi- 
tate seriously  at  present,  that,  in  all  probability, 
he  would  be  obliged  to  censure  himself:  and  he 
strolled  slowly  along,  almost  compelling  himself 
to  turn  his  attention  to  everything  which  he  en- 
countered. .  .  All  at  once  he  found  himself  in 
front  of  a  bench,  perceived  beside  it  some  one's 
legs,  ran  his  eyes  up  them.  .  .  The  legs  belonged 

145 


SMOKE 

to  a  man  who  was  sitting  on  the  bench  and  read- 
ing a  newspaper;  the  man  proved  to  be  Potugin. 
Litvinoff  gave  vent  to  a  slight  exclamation. 
Potugin  laid  his  paper  on  his  knees  and  stared 
attentively,  unsmilingly,  at  Litvinoff,  and  Lit- 
vinoff also  stared  attentively  and  unsmilingly  at 
Potugin. 

'May  I  sit  down  beside  you?'  he  asked  at 
last. 

'  Pray,  do.  Only  I  give  you  warning ;  if  you 
wish  to  enter  into  conversation  with  me  you  must 
not  be  offended — I  'm  in  the  most  misanthropic 
frame  of  mind  just  now,  and  all  objects  present 
themselves  to  me  in  an  exaggeratedly-evil  light." 

'  That 's  nothing,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  said  Lit- 
vinoff, dropping  down  on  the  bench: — "  it  is  even 
extremely  opportune.  .  .  But  why  has  this  mood 
come  upon  you? " 

'  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  ought  not  to  be  in  a 
rage,"  began  Potugin.  — "  Here  I  have  just  been 
reading  about  the  project  for  judicial  reforms  in 
Russia,  and  with  genuine  satisfaction  I  perceive 
that  we  have  at  last  got  some  common  sense,  and 
no  longer  intend  under  the  pretext  of  independ- 
ence there,  of  nationality  or  of  originality,  to 
tack  a  home-made  tail  on  to  pure,  clear  European 
logic;  but,  on  the  contrary,  .  .  they  are  going  to 
take  the  foreign  thing  which  is  good  complete. 
That  one  concession  in  the  affair  of  the  peasants 
was  sufficient.  .  .  Just  try  to  get  rid  of  com- 

146 


SMOKE 

munal  tenure !  .  .  Quite  true,  quite  true,  I  ought 
not  to  be  in  a  rage ;  but,  to  my  misfortune,  I  have 
happened  upon  a  self-made  Russian — I  have  been 
talking  with  him,  and  those  rough  nuggets — born 
geniuses,  and  self-taught  folks  will  worry  me 
into  my  grave!  " 

'  What  sort  of  a  born  genius?  "  inquired  Lit- 
vinoff. 

*  Why,  that  sort  of  a  gentleman  is  running 
about,  who  fancies  himself  a  gifted  musician. — 
1 1,'  says  he,  '  of  course  am  nothing;  I  'm  a  cipher 
because  I  never  had  any  education,  but  I  possess 
incomparably  more  melodies  and  more  ideas  than 
Meyerbeer.'  In  the  first  place,  I  will  remark: 
why  were  not  you  educated?  and,  in  the  second, 
not  only  Meyerbeer,  but  the  meanest  German 
flute-player,  who  modestly  whistles  his  part  in 
the  meanest  German  orchestra,  has  twenty  times 
more  ideas  than  all  our  born  geniuses;  only  the 
flute-player  keeps  his  ideas  to  himself,  and  does 
not  thrust  himself  forward  with  them  into  the 
company  of  Mozarts  and  Haydns;  but  our  Rus- 
sian genius  gets  out  a  little  waltz  or  a  little  ro- 
mance, slap  dash,  and  behold — there  he  is,  hands 
thrust  into  his  pockets,  and  a  scornful  curl  on  his 
mouth:  '  I  'm  a  genius,'  says  he.  And  it 's  just 
the  same  with  painting  and  everywhere.  How  I 
detest  those  born  geniuses!  Who  does  not  know 
that  people  pride  themselves  upon  them  only  in 
places  where  there  is  no  real  science  which  has 

147 


SMOKE 

been  assimilated  into  blood  and  flesh,  nor  real  art. 
Is  n't  it  time  to  file  away  in  the  archives  this 
boastfulness,  this  vulgar  rubbish,  along  with  the 
familiar  phrases,  to  the  effect  that  among  us,  in 
Russia,  no  one  dies  of  hunger,  and  that  travelling 
by  road  is  of  the  swiftest  sort,  and  that  we  can 
kill  everybody  with  a  slap  of  our  caps?  They  be- 
siege me  with  the  giftedness  of  the  Russian  na- 
ture, with  the  instinct  of  genius,  with  Kulibins.1 
But  what  sort  of  giftedness  is  it,  gentlemen,  for 
heaven's  sake?  It  is  the  babbling  of  a  man  half 
asleep,  or  a  half -savage  sagacity.  Instinct!  A 
pretty  thing  to  brag  about,  truly!  Take  an  ant 
in  the  forest,  carry  him  off  a  verst  away  from  his 
hill:  he  will  find  the  way  back  home;  a  man  can 
do  nothing  of  the  sort ;  what  of  that  ?  is  he  lower 
than  the  ant?  Instinct,  be  it  ever  so  talented,  is 
unworthy  of  man:  reason — simple,  sound,  com- 
monplace reason — that 's  our  real  fortune,  our 
pride;  reason  never  plays  any  such  pranks;  and 
that 's  why  everything  is  founded  on  it.  But  as 
for  Kulibin,  who,  without  knowing  anything 
about  mechanics,  has  constructed  some  extremely 
absurd  clocks  or  other, — I  would  order  those 
same  clocks  to  be  placed  on  a  pillar  of  scorn; 
■  come,  see,  good  people,'  I  would  say,  •  what  you 
must  not  do.'  Kulibin  is  not  to  blame  in  the  mat- 
ter, but  his  work  is  worthless.    To  praise  Teliish- 

l  A  character  in  Ostr6vsky's  famous  drama,  "  The  Thunderstorm ;  " 
a   self-taught   genius   of  a   clockmaker.  —  Translator. 

148 


SMOKE 

kin,  because  he  climbed  the  spire  of  the  Ad- 
miralty, for  his  daring  and  skill — that  is  permis- 
sible; why  should  not  he  be  praised?  But  it  is 
not  proper  to  shout  out  something  to  the  effect, 
'  Has  n't  he  made  a  laughing-stock  of  the  for- 
eign architects?  and  what  's  the  good  of  them? 
they  only  take  your  money.'  .  .  He  did  not 
make  a  laughing-stock  of  them  at  all:  afterward 
they  were  obliged  to  erect  a  scaffolding  around 
the  spire,  and  repair  it  in  the  ordinary  way.  For 
God's  sake,  do  not  encourage  such  ideas  among 
us  in  Russia,  as  that  anything  can  be  attained 
without  teaching!  No;  though  you  be  as  wise 
as  Solomon,  yet  learn,  learn  from  the  alphabet 
up!  Otherwise,  sit  down,  and  hang  your  tail 
between  your  legs!  Faugh!  I  've  even  got 
heated! " 

Potugin  took  off  his  hat,  and  fanned  himself 
with  his  handkerchief. 

"Russian  art,"  he  began  again: — "Russian 
art!  .  .  I  know  all  about  Russian  limitations, 
and  I  know  Russian  impotency  also,  but  as  for 
Russian  art,  excuse  me,  but  I  have  never  met  with 
it.  For  twenty  years  in  succession  we  bowed 
down  before  that  bloated  cipher,  Briulloff,  and 
imagined,  if  you  please,  that  a  school  had  been 
founded  among  us,  and  that  it  was  even  destined 
to  be  better  than  all  the  others.  .  .  Russian  art, 
ha-ha-ha!  ho-ho!  " 

"  But  permit  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  remarked 

149 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff.— "  That  means  that  you  do  not  recog- 
nise Glinka  either? " 

Potiigin  scratched  behind  his  ear. 

"  Exceptions,  you  know,  only  prove  the  rule, 
but  even  in  this  case  we  could  not  get  along  with- 
out bragging!  If  you  were  to  say,  for  example, 
that  Glinka  really  was  a  remarkable  musician, 
who  was  prevented  by  circumstances,  external 
and  internal,  from  becoming  the  founder  of  the 
Russian  opera,  no  one  would  dispute  you;  but 
no ;  how  is  that  possible !  It  immediately  becomes 
necessary  to  promote  him  to  be  commander-in- 
chief,  chief  marshal  of  the  Court  in  the  depart- 
ment of  music,  and  rob  other  nations  by  the  way : 
'  they  have  nothing  of  the  sort,  if  you  please,'  and 
then  you  have  pointed  out  to  you  some  '  mighty  ' 
home-bred  genius,  whose  compositions  are  noth- 
ing more  than  a  sorry  imitation  of  second-class 
foreign  workers — second-class,  precisely  that: 
they  are  more  easily  imitated.  Nothing  of  the 
sort.  Oh,  wretched  fools  and  savages,  for  whom 
there  exists  no  heritage  of  art,  and  artists — some- 
thing in  the  style  of  Rappeau :  as  much  as  to  say, 
a  foreigner  can  lift  six  puds  with  one  hand,  but 
our  man  can  lift  twelve!  Nothing  of  the  sort! 
Let  me  inform  you  that  I  cannot  get  the  follow- 
ing memory  out  of  my  head.  This  spring  I  vis- 
ited the  Crystal  Palace, in  the  suburbs  of  London; 
in  that  palace,  as  you  are  aware,  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  an  exhibition  of  everything 

150./ 


SMOKE 

to  which  man's  inventiveness  has  attained, — the 
encyclopaedia  of  humanity,  it  must  be  called. 
Well,  sir,  I  walked  and  walked  past  all  those 
machines  and  implements,  and  statues  of  great 
men ;  and  all  the  while  I  was  thinking :  if  a  decree 
were  issued  to  the  effect  that,  together  with  the 
disappearance  from  the  face  of  the  earth  of  any 
nation,  everything  which  that  nation  had  in- 
vented should  immediately  vanish  from  the  Crys- 
tal Palace, — our  dear  mother,  Orthodox  Russia, 
might  sink  down  to  the  nethermost  hell,  and  not 
a  single  tack,  not  a  single  pin,  would  be  disturbed, 
the  dear  creature :  everything  would  remain  quite 
calmly  in  its  place,  because  even  the  samovar, 
and  linden-bast  slippers,  and  the  shaft-arch,  and 
the  knout — those  renowned  products  of  ours — 
were  not  invented  by  us.  It  would  not  be  pos- 
sible to  try  a  similar  experiment  with  the  Sand- 
wich Islands  even;  their  inhabitants  have  in- 
vented some  sort  of  boats  and  spears:  visitors 
would  notice  their  absence.  That  is  calumny! 
that  is  too  harsh— you  may  say.  .  .  But  I  say: 
in  the  first  place,  I  do  not  know  how  to  censure 
with  a  grumble;  in  the  second,  it  is  evident  that 
no  one  can  make  up  his  mind  to  look  not  merely 
the  devil,  but  himself,  straight  in  the  eye,  and  it 
is  not  the  children  only,  with  us,  who  like  to  be 
lulled  to  sleep.  Our  ancient  inventions  were 
brought  to  us  from  the  East,  our  new  ones  we 
have    dragged  over,  after  a  fashion,   from  the 

151 


SMOKE 

West,  and  yet  we  continue  to  chatter  about  inde- 
pendent Russian  art!  Some  daring  persons  have 
even  discovered  a  Russian  science :  '  with  us,  if 
you  please,  twice  two  make  four,  but  somehow  it 
comes  out  in  a  more  dashing  way.'  " 

'  But  stay,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  exclaimed  Lit- 
vinoff. — "  Stay!  Surely,  we  send  something  to 
the  International  Expositions,  and  Europe  pro- 
cures some  supplies  from  us." 

Yes,  raw  material,  raw  products.  And  ob- 
serve, my  dear  sir:  our  raw  material  is  chiefly 
good,  only  because  it  depends  upon  other,  and 
very  evil  circumstances:  our  bristles,  for  exam- 
ple, are  large  and  stiff  merely  because  the  pigs 
are  poor;  our  hides  are  firm  and  thick,  because 
the  cows  are  thin;  our  tallow  is  fat,  because  it  is 
boiled  half  and  half  with  the  beef.  .  .  However, 
why  am  I  dilating  to  you  about  this  ?  Surely  you, 
who  occupy  yourself  with  technology,  must  know 
all  these  things  better  than  I  do.  People  say 
to  me :  '  inventiveness !  Russian  inventiveness ! ' 
There  are  our  landed  proprietors  complaining 
bitterly,  and  suffering  loss,  because  no  satisfac- 
tory grain-dryer  exists,  which  would  relieve  them 
of  the  necessity  of  placing  their  sheaves  of  grain 
in  the  kiln,  as  in  the  days  of  Rurik:  those  kilns 
are  frightfully  detrimental,  no  better  than  lin- 
den-bast slippers,  or  bast  mats,  and  they  are  con- 
stantly burning  down.  The  landed  proprietors 
complain,  and  still  the  grain-dryer  does  not  make 

152 


SMOKE 

its  appearance.  And  why  not?  Because  the  for- 
eigner does  not  need  it;  he  grinds  his  grain  raw, 
consequently  does  not  bother  about  inventing 
one,  and  we  .  .  .  are  not  capable  of  doing  it! 
Not  capable  of  doing  it— and  that 's  the  end  of 
the  matter !  You  might  try  it !  I  vow,  that  from 
this  day  forth,  as  soon  as  a  born  genius  or  a 
self-taught  man  drops  down  on  me,  I  shall  say 
to  him — '  halt,  my  respected  sir!  and  where  's  that 
grain -dryer?  Hand  it  over!'  But  how  can  they? 
We  are  capable  of  picking  up  an  old  patched 
shoe,  which  long  ago  fell  from  the  foot  of  Saint- 
Simon  or  Fourier,  and  placing  it  respectfully  on 
our  head,  treating  it  like  a  holy  thing ;  or  of  scrib- 
bling an  article  about  the  historical  and  contem- 
porary significance  of  the  proletariat  in  the  prin- 
cipal cities  of  France — that  also  we  can  do;  but  I 
once  tried  to  suggest  to  a  writer  and  political 
economist,  after  the  fashion  of  your  Mr.  Voroshi- 
loff,  to  name  to  me  twenty  towns  in  that  same 
France,  and  do  you  know  the  result?  The  result 
was,  that  the  political  economist,  in  despair, 
finally  mentioned,  among  the  towns  of  France, 
Mont  Fermeil,  probably  recalling  Paul  de 
Kock's  romance.  And  the  following  experience 
occurred  to  me.  One  day  I  was  making  my  way, 
with  gun  and  dog,  through  the  forest.  .  ." 

"  And  are  you  a  sportsman? "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  I  shoot  a  little.     I  was  making  my  way  tp 

153 


SMOKE 

a  marsh  in  search  of  quail;  other  sportsmen  had 
told  me  about  that  marsh.  I  looked,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  field,  in  front  of  a  cottage,  sat  a  mer- 
chant's clerk,  fresh  and  lusty  as  a  husked  nut, — 
sat  there  grinning,  I  did  not  know  at  what.  And 
I  asked  him:  '  Where  is  the  marsh,'  said  I,  '  and 
are  there  quail  in  it? '— '  Certainly,  certainly,'  he 
drawled  slowly,  and  with  an  expression  as  though 
I  had  presented  him  with  a  ruble ;  '  with  great 
pleasure,  sir :  it 's  a  first-class  marsh ;  but  as  for  all 
sorts  of  wild  birds — my  God! — there  's  a  capital 
abundance  of  them  also.'  I  went  off,  but  I  not 
only  did  not  find  a  single  wild  bird,— the  marsh 
itself  had  dried  up  long  before.  Now  tell  me, 
if  you  please,  why  does  the  Russian  man  lie? 
Why  does  the  political  economist  lie,  and  about 
wild-fowl,  to  boot? " 

Litvinoff  made  no  reply,  and  only  sighed  sym- 
pathetically. 

"  And  start  a  conversation  with  that  political 
economist,"  resumed  Potugin:— "  about  the  most 
difficult  problems  of  social  science,  only,  in  gen- 
eral terms,  without  facts  .  .  phrrrr !  and  the  bird 
will  soar  off  like  an  eagle!  But  I  once  succeeded 
in  catching  a  bird  of  that  sort :  I  employed  a  good 
visible  bait,  as  you  will  see.  We  were  talking 
with  one  of  our  present-day  '  new  youngsters,' 
about  divers  questions,  as  they  express  it.  Well, 
sir,  he  flew  into  a  great  rage,  as  is  usual;  among 
other  things,  he  rejected  marriage,  with  truly 

154     . 


SMOKE 

childish  obstinacy.  I  suggested  to  him  argu- 
ments of  one  sort  and  another  ...  it  was  like 
knocking  my  head  against  a  wall!  I  saw  that  it 
was  impossible  to  approach  him  from  that  quar- 
ter. And  suddenly  a  happy  thought  flashed 
across  me!  '  Permit  me  to  inform  you,'  I  began, 
— one  must  always  address  the  '  minnows  '  with 
respect—'  that  I  am  amazed  at  you,  my  dear  sir; 
you  are  interested  in  the  natural  sciences — and 
hitherto  you  have  not  noted  the  fact  that  all  car- 
nivorous and  rapacious  animals,  birds  and  beasts, 
all  those  who  are  obliged  to  sally  forth  in  search 
of  prey,  and  toil  over  procuring  live  food  for 
themselves  and  their  offspring  .  .  .  and,  of  course, 
you  reckon  man  in  the  list  of  such  animals?' — 'Of 
course  I  do,'  replied  the  '  minnow  ' :  *  man,  after 
all,  is  nothing  but  a  carnivorous  animal.' — '  And 
a  rapacious  one,'  I  added. — 'And  a  rapacious 
one,'  he  assented. — *  That  is  very  well  said,'  I  as- 
sented. '  So,  then,  I  am  amazed  that  you  have 
not  observed  that  all  such  animals  stick  to  mo- 
nogamy?' The  new  youngster  shuddered. — 
'  How  so? '— '  Why,  just  so.  Recall  the  lion,  the 
wolf,  the  fox,  the  vulture,  the  hawk;  and  be  so 
good  as  to  consider  how  could  they  act  otherwise? 
The  two  of  you  can  hardly  feed  the  children,  as  it 
is.' — My  'minnow'  fell  to  thinking.  —  'Well,' says 
he,  '  in  that  case,  the  beast  is  no  model  for  man.' 
— '  Then  I  called  him  an  idealist,  and  how  angry 
he  became!    He  almost  wept.    I  was  obliged  to 

155 


SMOKE 

soothe  him,  and  to  promise  him  that  I  would  not 
betray  him  to  his  comrades.  Is  it  a  small  thing 
to  deserve  the  name  of  idealist  ?  And  therein  lies 
the  joke,  that  the  present  young  generation  has 
made  a  mistake  in  its  calculations.  It  has  imag- 
ined that  the  day  of  old-fashioned,  dark,  under- 
ground toil  is  past,  that  it  was  all  well  enough  for 
their  aged  fathers  to  dig  like  tortoises ;  but  for  us 
such  a  role  is  humiliating,  if  you  please,  we  will 
act  in  the  open  air,  we  will  act.  .  .  The  dear  in- 
nocents !  and  even  your  children  will  not  act ;  and 
would  n't  you  like  to  go  back  to  the  cave,  to  the 
cave  again,  in  the  footprints  of  the  old  men? ' 

A  brief  silence  ensued. 

"  I,  my  dear  sir,  am  of  this  opinion,"  Potiigin 
began  again: — "  that  we  are  indebted  to  civilisa- 
tion not  alone  for  knowledge,  art,  and  law,  but  for 
the  fact  that  even  the  very  sentiment  of  beauty 
and  poetry  is  developed  and  enters  into  force  un- 
der the  influence  of  that  same  civilisation;  and 
that  so-called  national,  ingenuous,  unconscious, 
creative  genius  is  stuff  and  nonsense.  Even  in 
Homer  traces  are  already  discernible  of  a  refined 
and  wealthy  civilisation;  even  love  is  ennobled 
thereby.  The  Slavyanophils  would  gladly  hang 
me  for  such  a  heresy  if  they  were  not  such  ten- 
der-hearted creatures;  but,  nevertheless,  I  insist 
upon  my  view — and  however  much  they  may  re- 
gale me  with  Madame  Kokhanovsky  and  '  The 
Hive  at  Rest,'  I  will  not  inhale  that  triple  extrait 

15.6 


SMOKE 

de  mougik  russe;  for  I  do  not  belong  to  the  high- 
est society,  which  finds  it  indispensably  necessary, 
from  time  to  time,  to  assure  itself  that  it  has  not 
become  completely  Frenchified,  and  for  whose 
special  use  that  literature  en  cuir  de  Russie  is 
composed.  Try  the  experiment  of  reading  to  the 
common  people— the  genuine  populace— the 
most  incisive,  the  most  '  national '  passages  from 
the  '  Hive  ' ;  they  will  think  you  are  communi- 
cating some  new  plot  about  usury  or  hard  drink- 
ing. I  repeat  it,  without  civilisation  there  is  no 
poetry.  AVould  you  like  to  obtain  an  illustration 
of  the  unpoetic  ideal  of  the  uncivilised  Russian 
man?  Open  our  epic  songs,  our  legends.  I  am 
not  talking  now  about  the  fact  that  love  always 
is  represented  in  them  as  the  result  of  witchcraft, 
of  sorcery — is  produced  by  drinking  '  a  love-phil- 
tre,' and  is  even  called  soldering,  chilblain;  nei- 
ther am  I  referring  to  the  fact  that  our  so-called 
epic  literature  alone,  among  all  the  others,  Euro- 
pean and  Asiatic,— alone,  observe,— has  not  pre- 
sented—unless you  count  Vanka-Tanka  as  such 
—a  single  typical  pair  of  loving  human  beings; 
that  the  paladin  of  Holy  Russia  always  begins  his 
acquaintance  with  his  fated  affinity  by  beating  her 
'  mercilessly  '  on  her  white  body— whence  '  also 
the  feminine  sex  lives  swollen  up  ' ;  of  all  that  I 
will  not  speak;  but  permit  me  to  direct  your  at- 
tention to  that  elegant  specimen  of  youth,  the 
jcune  premier,  as  he  was  depicted  by  the  imagi- 

157 


SMOKE 

nation  of  the  primitive,   uncivilised   Slavonian. 
Here,  be  pleased  to  note,  comes  the  leading  lover ; 
he  has  made  himself  a  nice  little  cloak  of  marten- 
fur,  stitched  along  all  the  seams:  a  belt  of  the 
seven  silks  is  girt  about  him  just  under  the  arm- 
pits, and  the  collar  of  the  cloak  is  made  higher 
than  his  head;  from  the  front  his  ruddy  face, 
from  the  back  his  white  neck  is  not  visible,  his  cap 
rests  on  one  ear,  and  on  his  feet  are  morocco 
boots,  with  awl-like  toes,  his  heels  are  pointed,— 
around  the  little  tips  an  egg  might  roll;  under 
the  high  heels  a  sparrow  might  fly  and  flutter. — 
And  the  dashing  young  fellow  walks  with  a  short, 
mincing    step,    that    famous    '  flaunting '    gait, 
wherewith  our  Alcibiades,  Tchurilo  Plenkovitch, 
produced  such  a  wonderful,  almost  medicinal  ef- 
fect on  the  old  women  and  the  young  maidens, 
that  same  gait  wherewith,  down  to  the  present 
day,  our  waiters,  limbered  in  every  joint,  that 
cream,  that  flower  of  Russian  foppishness,  that 
nee  plus  ultra  of  Russian  taste,  trip  about  in  so  in- 
imitable a  manner.    I  am  not  saying  this  in  jest: 
dawdling  dash  is  our  artistic  ideal.    Well,  is  the 
picture  true?    Does  it  contain  many  materials  for 
painting,  for  sculpture?     And  the  beauty  who 
fascinates  the  young  men,  and  whose  '  blood  in 

her  face  is  as  though  in  that  of  a  hare? ' 

But,  apparently,  you  are  not  listening  to  me? ' 

Litvinoff  started.     He  really  had  not  heard 
what  Potiigin  had  been  saying  to  him:  he  had 

158 


SMOKE 

been  thinking,  importunately  thinking  about 
Irina,  about  his  last  meeting  with  her.  .  . 

'  Excuse  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  he  began: — 
-  but  I  want  to  put  my  former  question  to  you 
once  more,  about  .  .  .  about  Madame  Ratmi- 
roff." 

Potugin  folded  his  newspaper,  and  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket. 

'  Again  you  wish  to  know  how  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  her? " 

"  No,  not  that;  I  should  like  to  hear  your  opin- 
ion .  .  .  about  the  part  which  she  has  played  in 
Petersburg.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  what  was  that 
part?" 

'  But  I  really  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  you, 
Grigory  Mikhailovitch.  I  became  pretty  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  Madame  Ratmiroff 

but  quite  accidentally,  and  not  for  long.  I  have 
never  taken  a  peep  into  her  society,  and  what 
took  place  there  has  remained  unknown  to  me. 
People  have  chattered  somewhat  in  my  presence, 
but  you  know  scandal  reigns  among  us  not  in 
democratic  circles  only.  Moreover,  I  never  had 
the  curiosity  to  inquire.  But  I  perceive,"  he 
added,  after  a  brief  pause: — "that  she  interests 

you." 

"  Yes;  we  have  had  a*  couple  of  pretty  frank 
conversations.  Still,  I  ask  myself:  Is  she  sin- 
cere? " 

Potugin  dropped  his  eyes.  — "  When  she  gets 

159 


SMOKE 

carried  away — she  is  sincere,  like  all  passionate 

women.     Pride  also  sometimes  keeps  her  from 

lying." 

"  But  is  she  proud?    I  should  suppose,  rather 

— that  she  is  capricious." 

"  As  proud  as  the  devil;  but  that 's  nothing." 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  she  sometimes  exagger- 

tlLC'S.     •     • 

"  That 's  nothing,  either;  she  is  sincere,  all  the 
same.  Well,  and  speaking  in  general,  from 
whom  would  you  care  to  have  the  truth?  The 
very  best  of  those  young  noble  ladies  are  corrupt 
to  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones." 

"  But,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  call  to  mind,  did  not 
you  call  yourself  her  friend?  Was  it  not  you 
who,  almost  by  force,  took  me  to  her? ' 

"What  of  that?  She  asked  me  to  get  you: 
why  not?  But  I  really  am  her  friend.  She  is 
not  devoid  of  good  qualities:  she  is  very  kind — 
that  is  to  say,  generous, — that  is  to  say,  she  gives 
to  others  that  which  she  does  not  need  herself. 
However,  you  certainly  must  know  her  quite  as 
well  as  I  do." 

"  I  used  to  know  Irina  Pavlovna  ten  years 
ago;  but  since  then  .  .  ." 

"  Ekh,  Grigory  Mikhailoviteh,  what  are  you 
saying?  Do  people's  characters  change?  As  they 
are  in  the  cradle,  so  they  are  in  the  grave.  Or, 
perhaps  .  .  .  ."—Here  Potiigin  bent  still  lower; 

16Q 


SMOKE 

— "  perhaps  you  are  afraid  of  falling  into  her 
hands?  That  really  .  .  .  well,  you  cannot  avoid 
falling  into  some  one's  hands." 

LitvinofF  laughed  in  a  constrained  way. — 
"You  think  so?" 

;  You  cannot  avoid  it.  Man  is  weak,  woman 
is  strong,  chance  is  all-powerful;  it  is  difficult  to 
reconcile  one's  self  to  a  colourless  existence,  it  is 
impossible  wholly  to  forget  one's  self  .  .  .  but 
yonder  is  beauty  and  sympathy — yonder  is 
warmth  and  light, — why  resist?  And  you  run  to 
it  like  a  child  to  its  nurse.  Well,  and  afterward, 
of  course,  there  is  cold,  and  darkness,  and  empti- 
ness .  .  as  is  proper.  And  the  end  of  it  is,  that 
you  will  grow  unused  to  everything,  you  will 
cease  to  understand  anything.  At  first  you  will 
not  understand  how  it  is  possible  to  love;  and 
afterward  you  will  not  understand  how  it  is  pos- 
sible to  live." 

LitvinofF  looked  at  Potugin,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  never  before  had  he  met  a  more  solitary, 
a  more  deserted  ....  a  more  unhappy  man. 
On  this  occasion  he  was  not  timid,  he  did  not 
stand  on  ceremony ;  all  despondent  and  pale,  with 
his  head  on  his  breast,  and  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
he  sat  motionless,  and  merely  smiled  a  melan- 
choly smile.  LitvinofF  felt  sorry  for  this  poor, 
queer,  splenetic  fellow. 

"  Irina    Pavlovna   mentioned   to   me,    among 

161 


SMOKE 

other  things,"  he  began  in  a  low  tone, — "  one  of 
her  intimate  friends,  whom  she  called,  I  think, 
Madame  Byelsky  or  Dolsky.  .  ." 

Potiigin  cast  his  sorrowful  eyes  on  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  Ah!  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  dull  tone.  .  .  "  She 
mentioned  her  .  .  .  well,  and  what  of  it?    How- 
ever," he  added,  with  an  unnatural  sort  of  yawn: 
'  I    must    go    home— to    dinner.     I    ask    your 
pardon." 

He  sprang  up  from  the  bench  and  moved  rap- 
idly away  before  Litvinoff  could  manage  to  utter 
a  word.  .  .  His  pity  gave  way  to  vexation — vexa- 
tion at  himself,  of  course.  Every  sort  of  indiscre- 
tion was  unnatural  to  him;  he  had  wished  to  ex- 
press his  sympathy  for  Potugin  and  the  result  had 
been  something  in  the  nature  of  an  awkward  hint. 
With  secret  dissatisfaction  at  heart,  he  returned 
to  his  hotel. 

Corrupt  to  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones," 
he  thought  some  time  later  ..."  but  proud  as 
the  devil!  She,  that  woman,  who  is  almost  on 
her  knees  before  me,  proud?  proud,  not  ca- 
pricious  ? 

Litvinoff  tried  to  expel  Irina's  image  from  his 
head,  but  did  not  succeed.  For  that  very  reason, 
also,  he  did  not  recall  his  affianced  bride;  he  felt 
to-day  that  image  would  not  surrender  its  place. 
He  resolved  to  await  the  solution  of  all  this 
"  strange  affair,"  without  troubling  himself  fur- 

162 


SMOKE 

ther ;  the  solution  could  not  be  long  delayed,  and 
Litvinoff  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  it 
would  be  of  the  most  abundant  and  natural  sort. 
So  he  thought,  but,  in  the  meantime,  it  was  not 
Irina's  image  alone  which  would  not  leave  him — 
all  her  words  recurred  in  turn  to  his  memory. 

A  waiter  brought  him  a  note:  it  was  from 
Irina. 

1 '  If  you  have  nothing  to  do  this  evening,  come :  I  shall 
not  be  alone;  I  have  guests — and  you  will  have  a  closer 
view  of  us,  of  our  society.  I  am  very  anxious  that  you 
should  see  them :  I  have  a  premonition  that  they  will  dis- 
play themselves  in  all  their  glory.  And  you  ought  to 
know  what  sort  of  air  I  breathe.  Come ;  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you,  and  you  are  not  bored  [Irfna  meant  to  say : 
you  will  not  be  bored].  Prove  to  me  that  our  explana- 
tion of  to-day  has  rendered  impossible  any  misunderstand- 
ing between  us.  Faithfully  yours,  I. ' ' 

Litvinoff  put  on  his  dress  suit  and  a  white  tie, 
and  went  to  Irina's.  "  All  this  is  of  no  impor- 
tance," he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  in  thought, 
on  the  way, — "  but  take  a  look  at  them  .  .  .  why 
should  not  I  take  a  look?  It  is  curious."  A  few 
days  previously  these  same  people  had  aroused 
in  him  a  different  feeling:  they  had  aroused  his 
indignation. 

lie  walked  with  hurried  steps,  with  his  hat 
pulled  far  down  over  his  eyes,  with  a  constrained 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  Bambaeff,  who  was  sitting 

168 


SMOKE 

in  front  of  Weber's  Cafe,  and  pointed  him  out 
from  a  distance  to  Voroshiloff  and  Pishtchalkin, 
exclaimed  enthusiastically:  "Do  you  see  that 
man?     He  's    stone!     He  's    a    rock!!     He  's 

granite!  !  !  " 


164 


XV 

Litvinoff  found  quite  a  number  of  guests  at 
Irina's.  In  a  corner,  at  the  card-table,  sat  three 
of  the  generals  of  the  picnic:  the  fat,  the  irrita- 
ble, and  the  condescending  ones.  They  were 
playing  whist  with  a  dummy,  and  there  are  no 
words  in  human  language  wherewith  to  express 
the   pompousness   with   which   they   dealt,   took 

tricks,   played  clubs,   played   diamonds 

just  like  statesmen!  Leaving  to  plebeians,  aux 
bourgeois,  the  comments  and  adages  customary 
during  a  game,  the  generals  uttered  only  the  most 
indispensable  words;  but  the  fat  general  per- 
mitted himself  between  two  deals  to  say,  with 
energetic  distinctness :  ce  Ce  satane  as  de  pique! '' 
Among  the  visitors  Litvinoff  recognised  the 
ladies  who  had  taken  part  in  the  picnic ;  but  there 
were  others  also  whom  he  had  not  hitherto  seen. 
One  was  so  old  that  it  seemed  as  though  she  must 
collapse  im/nediately :  she  was  wriggling  her 
dreadful  bare,  dark-grey  shoulders  about, — and 
covering  her  mouth  with  her  fan;  she  was  cast- 
ing sidelong  glances  at  Ratmiroff,  with  her  al- 
ready quite  dead  eyes;  he  was  paying  court  to 
her;  she  was  greatly  respected  in  high  society 

165 


SMOKE 

as  the  last  Maid  of  Honour  of  the  Empress 
Katherine  II.  By  the  window,  dressed  as  a  shep- 
herdess, sat  Countess  Sh.,  "  the  Tzaritza  of  the 
Wasps,"  surrounded  by  young  men;  among 
them,  distinguished  by  his  arrogant  bearing,  his 
perfectly  flat  skull,  and  his  soullessly-brutal  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  worthy  of  a  Khan  of 
Bokhara  or  of  a  Roman  Heliogabalus,  was  Fini- 
koff,  famous  for  his  wealth  and  his  good  looks; 
another  lady,  also  a  Countess,  and  known  by  the 
diminutive  name  of  Use,  was  chatting  with  a 
long-haired  blond,  pale  "  spirit-medium  ";  beside 
them  stood  a  gentleman,  also  pale  and  long- 
haired, sneering  significantly :  this  gentleman  was 
also  a  believer  in  spiritualism,  but  busied  himself, 
in  addition,  with  prophecy,  and,  on  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Apocalypse  and  the  Talmud,  foretold 
all  sorts  of  remarkable  events;  not  one  of  these 
events  took  place, — but  he  was  not  discomfited, 
and  went  on  prophesying.  That  same  heaven- 
born  genius  who  had  aroused  such  ire  in  Potugin 
had  placed  himself  at  the  piano;  he  was  striking 
chords  in  an  absent-minded  way,  (Tune  main  dis- 
traite, and  carelessly  gazing  about  him.  Irina 
was  sitting  on  the  divan  between  Prince  Koko 
and  Madame  X.,  formerly  renowned  as  the 
beauty  and  wit  of  All-Russia,  and  who  had  long 
ago  turned  into  a  worthless  wrinkled  mushroom, 
whence  exhaled  an  odour  of  fast-tide  oil  and 
putrid  poison.     On  catching  sight  of  Litvirioff, 

166 


SMOKE 

Irina  blushed,  rose,  and  when  he  approached  her, 
pressed  his  hand  warmly.  She  wore  a  black  crape 
gown,  with  barely  visible  gold  embellishments; 
her  shoulders  gleamed  with  a  dull  whiteness,  and 
her  face,  which  was  also  pale  beneath  the  momen- 
tary wave  of  crimson  which  had  swept  over  it, 
breathed  forth  the  triumph  of  beauty,  and  not  of 
beauty  only:  a  secret,  almost  mocking  joy, 
sparkled  in  her  half -closed  eyes,  quivered  around 
her  lips  and  nostrils.  .  . 

Ratmiroff  approached  LitvinofF,  and  after  ex- 
changing with  him  the  customary  greetings, 
which  were  not,  however,  accompanied  by  his  ha- 
bitual playfulness,  presented  him  to  two  or  three 
ladies:  to  the  aged  ruin,  to  the  Empress  of  the 
Wasps,  to  Countess  Liza.  .  .  They  received  him 
with  a  tolerable  amount  of  graciousness.  Litvi- 
noff  did  not  belong  to  their  set  .  .  .  but  he  was 
not  ill-looking,  even  very  far  from  it,  and  the 
expressive  features  of  his  youthful  face  aroused 
their  attention.  Only  he  did  not  understand  how 
to  rivet  this  attention  on  himself;  he  had  grown 
disused  to  society,  and  felt  somewhat  embar- 
rassed, and  then,  too,  the  fat  general  had  fixed  his 
eyes  on  him.  "Aha!  the  civilian!  the  free- 
thinker!" that  immovable,  heavy  glance  seemed  to 
say :  "  so  he  has  crawled  into  our  society ;  please  let 
me  kiss  your  hand,"  says  he.  Irina  came  to  Lit- 
vinoff 's  rescue.  She  managed  matters  so  cleverly 
that  he  found  himself  in  a  corner,  near  the  door, 

167 


SMOKE 

a  little  behind  her.  When  she  addressed  him  she 
was  obliged  every  time  to  turn  toward  him,  and 
every  time  he  admired  the  beautiful  curve  of  her 
gleaming  neck  he  inhaled  the  delicate  perfume 
of  her  hair.  The  expression  of  profound  and 
silent  gratitude  never  left  her  face:  he  could  not 
but  admit  that  it  was  precisely  gratitude  which 
was  expressed  by  those  smiles,  those  glances,  and 
he  also  began  to  seethe  all  over  with  the  same 
sentiment,  and  he  felt  ashamed,  yet  found  it 
sweet  and  painful  .  .  .  and  at  the  same  time 
she  seemed  constantly  desirous  of  saying:  "Well? 
What  do  you  think  of  this? '  This  wordless 
question  became  audible  to  Litvinoff  with  espe- 
cial clearness  every  time  any  of  those  present 
uttered  or  perpetrated  a  stupidity,  and  this  hap- 
pened more  than  once  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing. Once,  even,  she  could  not  contain  herself, 
and  laughed  aloud. 

Countess  Liza,  a  very  superstitious  lady  and 
inclined  to  everything  extraordinary,  after  hav- 
ing talked  her  fill  to  the  light-haired  medium 
about  Hume,  table-tipping,  self -playing  accor- 
deons,  and  the  like,  wound  up  by  asking  him 
whether  any  animals  existed  upon  whom  mag- 
netism produced  an  effect. 

"  One  such  animal  exists,  at  any  rate,"  re- 
marked Prince  Koko  from  a  distance. — "  You 
know  Milanovsky,  I  believe?  They  put  him  to 
sleep  in  my  presence,  and  he  even  snored,  ai,  ai!  " 

168 


SMOKE 


cc 


You  are  very  malicious,  mon  prince;  I 
am  talking  about  real  animals,  je  parle  des 
betes" 

"  Mais  moi  aussi,  madame,  je  parle  d'une 
bete.  .  ." 

1  There  are  real  animals  also,"  interposed  the 
spiritualist;— "  for  example— crabs;  they  are 
very  nervous,  and  easily  fall  into  a  cataleptic 
state." 

The  Countess  was  amazed. — "  What?  Crabs! 
Is  it  possible?  Akh,  that  is  extremely  curious! 
How  I  should  like  to  see  it!  Monsieur  Luzhin," 
she  added,  addressing  a  young  man  with  a  stony 
face,  such  as  new  dolls  have,  and  stony  collar  (he 
was  famed  for  having  wet  that  same  face  and 
collar  with  dashes  of  Niagara  and  the  Nubian 
Nile,  but  he  remembered  nothing  about  all  his 
travels,  and  loved  only  Russian  puns  ....), 
"  Monsieur  Luzhin,  be  so  good  as  to  get  us  a 
crab." 

Monsieur  Luzhin  grinned. — "A  live  one  or 
only  a  lively  one?  "  he  inquired. 

The  Countess  did  not  understand  him. — "Mais 
oui,  a  crab,"  she  repeated,  "  une  ecrevisse" 

"What — what's  the  meaning  of  this? — a 
crab?  a  crab?"  interposed  Countess  Sh.  sternly. 
The  absence  of  Monsieur  Verdier  irritated  her: 
she  could  not  understand  why  Irina  had  not  in- 
vited that  most  charming  of  Frenchmen.  The 
ruin,  who  had  long  ago  ceased  to  understand  any- 

169 


SMOKE 

thing,— in  addition  to  which,  deafness  had  seized 
upon  her,— only  waggled  her  head. 

"  Oui,  oui,  vous  allez  voir.  Monsieur  Luzhin, 
please  .  .  .  ." 

The  young  traveller  bowed,  left  the  room,  and 
speedily  returned.  A  waiter  followed  him,  and 
grinning  to  the  full  extent  of  his  mouth,  bore  a 
platter  whereon  was  visible  a  large  black  crab. 

"Void,  madame,"  exclaimed  Luzhin; — "now 
you  can  set  about  the  operation  on  the  crab.1  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  "  (Russians  are  always  the  first  to  laugh 
at  their  own  witticisms.)  — "  He,  he,  he!  "  echoed 
Prince  Koko,  in  the  quality  of  a  patriot  and 
patron  of  all  national  products. 

(We  beg  the  reader  not  to  feel  astonished  and 
not  to  get  angry:  who  can  answer  for  himself, 
that,  when  seated  in  the  parterre  of  the  Alexan- 
drinsky  Theatre,  and  invaded  by  its  atmosphere, 
he  will  not  perpetrate  even  a  worse  pun?) 

"Merci,  merci"  said  the  Countess.— "  A  lions, 
allons,  Monsieur  Fox,  montrez-nous  ca." 

The  waiter  placed  the  platter  on  a  small  round 
table.  A  slight  movement  ensued  among  the 
guests;  several  necks  were  outstretched;  only  the 
generals  at  the  card-table  preserved  the  serene 
solemnity  of  their  pose.  The  medium  rumpled 
up  his  hair,  frowned,  and  approaching  the  table, 
began  to  make  passes  with  his  hands  in  the  air: 
the  crab  bristled  up,  drew  back,  and  elevated  its 

1The  word  also  means  cancer  in  Russian. — Translator. 

170 


SMOKE 

claws.  The  medium  repeated  and  quickened  his 
motions :  the  crab  bristled  as  before. 

f  Mais  que  doit-elle  done  faire?  "  inquired  the 
Countess. 

'  Elle  dod  tester  immobile  et  se  dresser  sur  sa 
quiou,"  replied  Mr.  Fox,  with  a  strong  American 
accent,  convulsively  agitating  his  fingers  over  the 
platter;  but  the  magnetism  did  not  act,  the  crab 
continued  to  move  about.  The  medium  an- 
nounced that  he  was  not  at  his  best,  and  retreated 
from  the  table  with  a  dissatisfied  aspect.  The 
Countess  undertook  to  console  him,  asserting  that 
similar  failures  sometimes  happened,  even  with 
Monsieur  Hume.  .  .  Prince  Koko  confirmed 
her  words.  The  expert  in  the  Apocalypse  and 
the  Talmud  stole  up  to  the  table  on  the  sly,  and 
poking  his  fingers  swiftly,  but  violently,  in  the 
direction  of  the  crab,  also  tried  his  luck,  but  with- 
out success:  no  symptoms  of  catalepsy  mani- 
fested themselves.  Then  the  waiter  was  sum- 
moned, and  ordered  to  remove  the  crab,  which 
command  he  obeyed,  grinning  to  the  full  capacity 
of  his  mouth,  as  before ;  he  could  be  heard  to  snort 
outside  the  door.  ...  In  the  kitchen,  later  on, 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  laughter  iiber  diese  Rus- 
sen.  The  born  genius  had  continued  to  strike 
chords  during  the  whole  time  of  the  experiment 
with  the  crab,  keeping  to  minor  tones,  because, 
you  know,  no  one  could  tell  what  would  prove 
effectual  in   that   case,— then   the   born   genius 

171 


SMOKE 

played  his  inevitable  waltz,  and,  of  course,  re- 
ceived the  most  flattering  approval.  Carried 
away  by  the  spirit  of  emulation,  Count  X.,  our 
incomparable  dilettante  (see  Chapter  I),  "re- 
cited "  a  chansonette  of  his  own  invention,  stolen 
entire  from  Offenbach.  Its  playful  refrain  on 
the  words  "Quel  ceuf?  quel  boeufV  made  the 
heads  of  almost  all  the  ladies  roll  to  right  and  to 
left ;  one  even  moaned  gently,  and  the  irresistible, 
inevitable  "  Charmant!  charmant! "  flitted  across 
every  one's  mouth.  Irfna  exchanged  a  glance 
with  LitvinofF,  and  again  that  mysterious,  mock- 
ing expression  hovered  about  her  lips.  .  .  .  But 
it  came  more  powerfully  into  action  a  little  later, 
—it  even  assumed  a  malevolent  cast, — when 
Prince  Koko,  that  representative  and  defender 
of  the  interests  of  the  nobility,  took  it  into  his 
head  to  set  forth  his  views  to  that  same  medium, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  immediately  made  use 
of  his  famous  phrase  about  the  shock  to  property 
in  Russia,  in  which  connection,  incidentally,  de- 
mocracy caught  it.  The  American  blood  in  the 
medium  made  itself  felt ;  he  began  to  argue.  The 
Prince,  as  was  fitting,  immediately  began  to 
shout,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  in  place  of  proofs 
incessantly  repeating :  "  C'est  absurde!  cela  na 
pas  le  sens  commun! "  The  wealthy  Finikoff 
began  to  utter  impertinences,  without  stopping 
to  think  to  whom  they  applied ;  the  Talmudist  set 
up  a  squeak;  even  Countess  Sh.  took  to  rattling. 

172 


SMOKE 

...  In  short,  there  arose  almost  identically  the 
same  detestable  uproar  as  at  Gubaryoff's;  only, 
in  this  case,  there  were  no  beer  and  tobacco-smoke, 
and  all  present  were  better  dressed.  RatmirofF 
endeavoured  to  restore  silence  (the  generals  had 
expressed  dissatisfaction,  an  exclamation  from 
Boris  had  made  itself  audible :  "  Encore  cette  sa- 
tanee  politique!"),  but  the  effort  proved  fruit- 
less ;  and  a  dignitary  who  was  present,  one  of  the 
softly-penetrating  sort,  on  undertaking  to  pre- 
sent le  resume  de  la  question  en  peu  de  mots,  suf- 
fered defeat;  it  is  true  that  he  so  mumbled  and 
repeated  himself,  so  evidently  did  not  know  how 
either  to  hear  or  answer  objections,  and  so  in- 
dubitably did  not  himself  know  precisely  in  what 
la  question  consisted,  that  no  other  issue  could 
have  been  expected ;  and  Irina,  too,  urged  on  the 
wranglers  on  the  sly,  and  hounded  them  one  upon 
the  other,  constantly  glancing  at  Litvinoff,  and 
nodding  her  head  slightly  at  him.  .  .  And  he  sat 
there  as  though  bewitched,  heard  nothing,  and 
only  waited  for  those  magnificent  eyes  to  flash 
upon  him  once  again,  for  that  pale,  tender,  mis- 
chievous, charming  face  to  flit  once  more  across 
his  vision.  .  .  The  end  of  it  was  that  the  ladies 
rebelled,  and  demanded  that  the  dispute  should 
cease.  .  RatmirofF  invited  the  dilettante  to  re- 
peat his  chansonette,  and  the  born  genius  played 
his  waltz  again.  .  . 

Litvinoff  remained  until  after  midnight,  and 

173 


SMOKE 

took  his  departure  later  than  all  the  others.  The 
conversation  had  touched  upon  many  topics  dur- 
ing the  course  of  the  evening,  sedulously  avoiding 
everything  which  was  in  the  slightest  degree  in- 
teresting; the  generals,  after  they  had  finished 
their  majestic  game,  had  majestically  joined  in 
it:  the  influence  of  these  statesmen  immediately 
made  itself  felt.  A  conversation  was  in  progress 
about  the  notorieties  of  the  Parisian  demi-monde, 
with  whose  names  and  talents  every  one  appeared 
to  be  intimately  acquainted,  about  Sardou's  last 
play,  about  About's  romance,  about  Patti  in 
"  Traviata."  Some  one  suggested  that  they  play 
at  "  secretary,"  au  secretaire:  but  this  was  not  a 
success.  The  replies  were  insipid,  and  not  devoid 
of  grammatical  errors;  the  fat  general  told  how 
he,  on  one  occasion,  in  answer  to  the  question, 
Quest  ce  que  V amour?  had  replied :  Une  colique 
remontee  au  cceur,  and  immediately  began  to 
laugh  with  his  wooden  laugh;  the  ruin,  with  a 
sweeping  gesture,  tapped  him  with  her  fan  on 
the  arm;  a  bit  of  whitewash  fell  off  of  her  fore- 
head at  this  vigorous  gesture.  The  dried  mush- 
room undertook  to  recall  the  Slavonic  princi- 
palities and  the  indispensability  of  an  Orthodox 
propaganda  beyond  the  Danube,  but  finding  no 
echo,  began  to  hiss,  and  withdrew  into  the  back- 
ground. In  fact,  they  talked  more  about  Hume 
than  about  anything  else ;  even  the  "  Empress 
of  the  Wasps  "  narrated  how  hands  had  crept 

174 


SMOKE 

over  her,  and  how  she  had  seen  them,  and 
had  put  her  own  ring  on  one  of  them.  In  truth, 
Irina  triumphed:  even  if  Litvinoff  had  paid 
more  attention  to  what  was  being  said  around 
him,  still  he  would  not  have  carried  away  a 
single  sincere  word,  a  single  intelligent  thought, 
or  a  single  new  fact  out  of  all  that  incoherent 
and  lifeless  chatter.  No  enthusiasm  was  audi- 
ble even  in  the  cries  and  exclamations;  even  in 
the  reproaches  no  passion  was  to  be  felt:  only 
from  time  to  time,  from  beneath  the  mask  of 
pseudo-civic  indignation,  pseudo-scornful  indif- 
ference, did  the  fear  of  possible  losses  give  forth 
a  shriek,  and  a  few  names,  which  posterity  will 
not  forget,  were  uttered  with  gnashings  of  teeth. 
.  .  .  And  not  one  drop  of  living  current  beneath 
all  this  rubbish  and  litter!  What  ancient  stuff, 
what  useless  nonsense,  what  insipid  trifles  ab- 
sorbed all  those  brains,  those  souls,  and  absorbed 
them  not  on  that  one  evening  only,  not  only 
in  society,  but  at  home,  at  all  hours,  every  day, 
in  all  the  breadth  and  depth  of  their  beings! 
And  what  ignorance,  in  conclusion!  What 
lack  of  comprehension  of  everything  upon 
which  human  life  is  founded,  by  which  it  is 
adorned ! 

As  she  took  leave  of  Litvinoff,  Irina  slightly 
pressed  his  hand,  and  significantly  whispered: 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  Are  you  satis- 
fied?   Have  you    sufficiently    admired?    Is    it 

175 


SMOKE 

nice? '     He  made  her  no  reply,  but  merely  bowed 
silently  and  low. 

When  she  was  left  alone  with  her  husband 
Irina  was  on  the  point  of  retiring  to  her  bedroom. 
.  .  He  stopped  her. 

"  Je  vous  ai  beaucoup  admiree  ce  soir,  rna- 
dame" — he  said,  as  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and 
leaned  his  elbows  on  the  mantelpiece: — "vous 
vous  etes  parfaitement  moquee  de  nous  tous." 

"Pas  plus  cette  fois-ci  que  les  autres"— she 
replied  indifferently. 

'  How  do  you  wish  me  to  understand  that? ' 
— inquired  Ratmiroff. 

"  As  you  please." 

"  H'm.  C'est  clair." — Ratmiroff  cautiously, 
in  a  feline  way,  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cig- 
arette with  the  long  nail  of  his  little  finger. — 
1  Yes,  by  the  way !  That  new  acquaintance  of 
yours — what 's  his  name?  .  .  .  Mr.  Litvinoff — 
must  enjoy  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  clever 
man." 

At  Litvinoff's  name  Irina  turned  swiftly 
round. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

The  general  grinned. 

"  He  never  utters  a  word ;  .  .  .  evidently,  he  's 
afraid  of  compromising  himself." 

Irina  laughed  also,  only  not  at  all  in  the  same 
way  as  her  husband. 

"  It  is  better  to  hold  one's  tongue  than  to  talk 
....  as  some  people  do." 

176 


SMOKE 

"Attrapc! "— said  Ratmiroff,  with  feigned  hu- 
mility.—" Jesting  aside,  he  has  a  very  interesting 
face.  Such  a  .  .  .  concentrated  expression  .  . 
and,  altogether,  a  bearing.  .  .  .  Yes."— The 
general  adjusted  his  necktie,  and  throwing  back 
his  head,  scrutinised  his  own  moustache.—"  I  as- 
sume that  he  is  a  republican,  after  the  fashion 
of  that  other  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Potugin ;  he  's 
another  of  the  clever  men  who  are  taciturn." 

Irina's  brows  slowly  elevated  themselves  above 
the  widely-opened,  brilliant  eyes,  and  her  lips  be- 
came compressed,  almost  contorted. 

"  What  is  your  object  in  saying  this,  Valerian 
Vladimiritch?  "—she  remarked,  as  though  sym- 
pathetically.—" You  are  only  wasting  your 
powder  on  the  empty  air.  .  .  We  are  not  in  Rus- 
sia, and  no  one  is  listening  to  us." 

Ratmiroff  writhed. 

"  That  is  not  my  opinion  only,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna,"— he  began,  with  a  voice  that,  somehow, 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  guttural:— 
"  others  also  think  that  that  gentleman  looks  like 
a  carbonaro.  .  ." 

"Really?    And  who  are  those  others?' 

"  Why,  Boris,  for  example.  .  ." 

"  What?  And  that  fellow  must  needs  express 
his  opinion? ' 

Irina  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  though  shud- 
dering from  cold,  and  softly  passed  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  over  them. 

"That    fellow  .  .  .  yes,    that    fellow  .  .  that 

177 


SMOKE 


fellow.  Permit  me  to  inform  you,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna,  you  appear  to  be  losing  your  temper;  and 
you  know  yourself  that  the  person  who  loses  his 
temper  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  losing  my  temper?    For  what  reason?  " 

'  I  don't  know;  perhaps  the  remark  displeases 
you  which  I  permitted  myself  to  make  con- 
cerning .  .  .  ." 

Ratmiroff  began  to  stammer. 

'  Concerning?  " — repeated  Irina  inquiringly. 
— "  Akh,  pray  omit  irony  and  speak  more 
quickly.  I  am  tired,  I  am  sleepy." — She  took  a 
candle  from  the  table. — "  Concerning?  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  concerning  that  same  Mr.  Litvinoff . 
As  there  is  no  longer  any  doubt  that  you  take  a 
very  great  interest  in  him  ..." 

Irina  raised  the  hand  in  which  she  held  the 
candlestick;  the  flame  came  on  a  level  with  her 
husband's  face,  and,  after  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eye,  with  attention  and  almost  with  curi- 
osity, she  suddenly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you?  "—asked  Rat- 
miroff, with  a  scowl. 

Irina  continued  to  laugh. 

"  Come,  what  is  it? "  he  repeated,  and 
stamped  his  foot. 

He  felt  insulted,  exasperated,  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  the  beauty  of  this  woman,  who  stood  there 
before  him  so  lightly  and  so  boldly,  involuntarily 
surprised  him  ...  it  tormented  him.     He  saw 

178 


SMOKE 

everything— all  her  charms,  even  the  rosy  gleam 
of  the  elegant  nails  on  the  delicate  fingers,  which 
firmly  clasped  the  dark  bronze  of  the  heavy 
candlestick — even  that  gleam  did  not  escape  him 
.  .  .  and  the  insult  ate  still  more  deeply  into  his 
heart.     But  Irina  went  on  laughing. 

'What?  You?  You  are  jealous?  " — she  said, 
at  last,  and  turning  her  back  on  her  husband,  she 
left  the  room.— "  He  is  jealous!  "—was  audible 
outside  the  door,  and  again  her  laughter  rang 
out. 

Ratmiroff  gazed  gloomily  after  his  wife, — 
even  then  he  could  not  fail  to  observe  the  en- 
chanting grace  of  her  figure,  of  her  movements, 
—  and  crushing  his  cigarette  with  a  heavy  blow 
against  the  marble  slab  of  the  chimney-piece,  he 
flung  it  far  from  him.  His  cheeks  suddenly 
paled,  a  convulsive  quiver  flitted  across  his  chin, 
and  his  eyes  wandered  dully  and  fiercely  over 
the  floor,  as  though  in  search  of  something.  .  .  . 
Every  trace  of  elegance  had  vanished  from  his 
face.  That  must  have  been  the  sort  of  expression 
it  had  assumed  when  he  flogged  the  white  Rus- 
sian peasants. 

But  Litvinoff  came  to  himself  in  his  own  room, 
and  seating  himself  on  a  chair  by  the  table,  he 
clutched  his  head  in  both  hands,  and,  for  a  long 
time,  remained  motionless.  He  rose,  at  last, 
opened  a  drawer,  and  taking  out  a  portfolio, 
drew  from  an  inner  pocket  of  it  Tatyana's  photo- 

179 


SMOKE 

graph.  Her  face,  distorted  and,  as  usual,  made 
to  look  older  by  the  photograph,  gazed  sadly  at 
him.  Litvinoff's  betrothed  was  a  young  girl  of 
Great  Russian  descent,  golden-haired,  rather 
plump,  and  with  somewhat  heavy  features,  but 
with  a  wonderful  expression  of  goodness  and 
gentleness  in  the  light-brown  eyes,  and  a  tender 
white  brow,  upon  which  the  sunshine  seemed  al- 
ways to  linger.  For  a  long  time  Litvinoff  did 
not  take  his  eyes  from  the  picture :  then  he  softly 
pushed  it  from  him,  and  again  clasped  his  head 
with  both  hands.  "  All  is  over!  " — he  whispered 
at  last. — "  Irina!  Irfna!" 

It  was  only  now,  only  at  this  moment,  that  he 
comprehended  that  he  was  irrevocably,  madly  in 
love  with  her,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  on  the 
very  day  of  his  first  meeting  with  her  at  the  Old 
Chateau,  that  he  never  had  ceased  to  love  her. 
And  yet  how  astonished  he  would  have  been,  how 
incredulous;  how  he  would  have  laughed  if  any 
one  had  told  him  that  a  few  hours  earlier. 

"But  Tanya,  Tanya,  my  God!  Tanya! 
Tanya!  "—he  kept  repeating,  with  compunction; 
but  Irina's  image  kept  rising  up  before  him  in  her 
black  gown  that  looked  like  mourning,  with  the 
radiant  tranquillity  of  conquest  on  her  marble- 
white  face. 


180 


XVI 

Litvinoff  did  not  sleep  all  night  long,  and  did 
not  undress.  He  felt  very  heavy  at  heart.  As 
an  honourable  and  upright  man,  he  understood 
the  importance  of  obligations,  the  sacredness  of 
duty,  and  would  have  regarded  it  as  a  disgrace 
to  deal  disingenuously  with  himself,  with  his 
weakness,  with  his  conduct.  At  first  a  torpor  de- 
scended upon  him:  for  a  long  time  he  could  not 
free  himself  from  the  weight  of  a  persistent,  semi- 
conscious, obscure  sensation;  then  terror  took 
possession  of  him  at  the  thought  that  the  future, 
his  future  so  nearly  won,  was  again  enveloped  in 
gloom,  that  his  house — his  house  which  had  but 
just  been  erected — was  reeling  to  its  fall.  .  .  He 
began  pitilessly  to  upbraid  himself,  but  imme- 
diately put  a  stop  to  his  own  outbursts.  "  What 
dastardliness  is  this?  "—he  thought.—"  This  is  no 
time  for  reproaches;  I  must  act;  Tanya  is  my 
affianced  bride,  she  has  trusted  my  love,  my  hon- 
our, we  are  united  forever,  and  we  cannot,  we 
must  not  part."  He  set  before  himself,  in  vivid 
colours,  all  Tatyana's  qualities,  he  mentally  sorted 
them  over  and  enumerated  them;  he  tried  to 
arouse    in     himself     emotion     and    tenderness. 

181 


SMOKE 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  left  to  do,"— he  thought 
again: — "to  flee,  flee  instantly,  without  waiting 
for  her  arrival,  to  flee  to  meet  her,  even  if  I  shall 
suffer,  even  if  I  shall  torture  myself  with  Tanya, 
— which  is  improbable, — but,  in  any  ease,  it  is  use- 
less to  argue  about  that,  to  take  that  into  consid- 
eration; I  must  do  my  duty,  even  if  I  die  after- 
ward!— "  But  thou  hast  no  right  to  deceive  her,,, 
another  voice  whispered  to  him,  "  thou  hast  not 
the  right  to  conceal  from  her  the  change  which 
has  taken  place  in  thy  feelings;  perchance,  on 
learning  that  thou  hast  fallen  in  love  with  an- 
other, she  will  not  wish  to  become  thy  wife? ' 
"  Nonsense!  Nonsense!  "  he  retorted:—"  All  that 
is  sophistry,  shameful  guile,  false  conscientious- 
ness; I  have  no  right  not  to  keep  my  plighted 
word,  that 's  how  the  case  stands.  Well,  very 
good.  .  .  Then  I  must  go  away  from  here  with- 
out seeing  her.  .  ." 

But  at  this  point  LitvinofF's  heart  contracted, 
a  chill  overcame  him,  a  physical  chill:  a  momen- 
tary shiver  ran  through  his  body,  his  teeth  chat- 
tered. He  stretched  and  yawned  as  though  in  a 
fever.  Without  insisting  further  on  his  last 
thought,  stifling  that  thought,  turning  away  from 
it,  he  began  to  feel  perplexed  and  astonished  that 
he  could  again  have  .  .  .  again  have  fallen  in 
love  with  that  depraved,  worldly  creature, 
with  all  her  repulsive,  hostile  surroundings.  He 
tried  to  ask  himself:  "  But  hast  thou  fallen  thor- 

182, 


SMOKE 

oughly,  actually  in  love?"  and  could  only  wave 
his  hand  in  despair.  He  still  continued  to  feel 
surprised  and  perplexed,  and  lo!  there  before 
him,  as  though  from  a  soft,  fragrant  mist,  started 
forth  the  bewitching  countenance,  the  starry  eye- 
lashes were  raised — and  silently,  irresistibly,  the 
enchanting  eyes  penetrated  his  heart,  and  the 
voice  rang  out  sweetly,  and  the  gleaming  shoul- 
ders—the shoulders  of  a  young  empress — ex- 
haled the  freshness  and  the  fervour  of  tender- 
ness. .  .  . 

Toward  morning  a  decision  matured,  at  last,  in 
Litvmoff's  soul.  He  decided  to  set  out,  on  that 
very  day,  to  meet  Tatyana,  and  in  a  final  inter- 
view with  Irina  to  tell  her,  if  it  could  not  be 
avoided,  the  whole  truth — and  part  from  her 
forever. 

He  arranged  and  packed  his  things,  waited  un- 
til twelve  o'clock,  and  went  to  her.  But  at  the 
sight  of  her  half -veiled  windows,  Litvinoff's 
heart  seemed  to  sink  within  him  ...  he  lacked 
the  courage  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the  hotel. 
He  walked  several  times  up  and  down  Lichten- 
thaler  Avenue.  *  My  respects  to  you,  Mr.  Litvi- 
noff!  " — suddenly  rang  out  a  mocking  voice  from 
the  heights  of  a  swiftly-rolling  dog-cart.  Litvi- 
noff  raised  his  eyes,  and  beheld  General  Ratmf- 
roff  seated  beside  Prince  M.,  a  well-known  sports- 
man and  lover  of  English  equipages  and  horses. 

183 


SMOKE 

The  Prince  was  driving,  but  the  general  bent  to 
one  side  and  displayed  his  teeth,  lifting  his  hat 
high  above  his  head.  Litvinoff  bowed  to  him, 
and  instantly,  as  though  in  obedience  to  a  secret 
command,  set  out  at  a  run  for  Irina. 

She  was  at  home.  He  ordered  the  servants  to 
announce  him:  he  was  immediately  received. 
When  he  entered  she  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  She  wore  a  loose  morning  gown, 
with  wide,  flowing  sleeves ;  her  face,  pale  as  on  the 
preceding  day,  but  not  fresh  as  it  had  then  been, 
expressed  weariness ;  the  languid  smile  with  which 
she  greeted  her  guest  still  more  clearly  defined 
that  expression.  She  offered  him  her  hand,  and 
gazed  at  him  affectionately  but  abstractedly. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming," — she  began,  in  a 
mournful  voice,  and  sank  into  an  arm-chair. — "  I 
do  not  feel  quite  well  to-day ;  I  passed  a  bad  night. 
Well,  what  have  you  to  say  about  last  evening? 
Was  not  I  right?" 

Litvinoff  seated  himself. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,  Irina  Pavlovna,"— he 
began  .  .  . 

She  instantly  straightened  herself  up  and 
turned  round;  her  eyes  fairly  bored  into  Lit- 
vinoff. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"— she  ex- 
claimed.— "  You  are  as  pale  as  a  corpse — you 
are  ill.     What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

Litvinoff  became  confused. 

184 


SMOKE 

"With  me,  Irina  Pavlovna?" 

"  You  have  received  bad  news?  A  catastrophe 
has  happened,  tell  me,  tell  me.  .  ." 

Litvinoff ,  in  his  turn,  stared  at  Irina. 

"  I  have  received  no  bad  news," — he  said,  not 
without  an  effort:—"  but  a  catastrophe  has  really 
happened,  a  great  catastrophe  .  .  .  and  it  has 
brought  me  to  you." 

"  A  catastrophe ?    What  is  it?  " 

"  Such  a  one that  .  .  .  ." 

Litvinoff  tried  to  go  on  .  .  .  and  could  not. 
But  he  clasped  his  hands  so  hard  that  the  fingers 
cracked.  Irina  bent  forward,  and  seemed  turned 
to  stone. 

"  Akh!  I  love  you!"— burst  at  last  in  a  dull 
groan  from  Litvinoff's  breast,  and  he  turned 
away,  as  though  desirous  of  hiding  his  face. 

"  What,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  you  .  .  .  ." 
Irina  also  was  unable  to  finish  her  phrase,  and 
leaning  back  in  her  chair,  she  raised  both  hands 
to  her  face.—"  You  .  .  .  love  me? " 

"  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  yes," — he  repeated  with 
exasperation,  turning  his  face  more  and  more 
aside. 

All  became  silent  in  the  room :  a  butterfly  which 
had  flown  in,  agitated  its  wings  and  struggled  be- 
tween the  curtain  and  the  window. 

Litvinoff  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"This,  Irina  Pavlovna,"— he  began:— "this 
is  the  catastrophe  which  has  .  .  .  stunned  me, 

185. 


SMOKE 

which  I  ought  to  have  foreseen  and  avoided,  if  I 
had  not  as  in  former  days,  in  the  Moscow  time, 
fallen  immediately  into  the  whirlpool.  Evidently, 
it  has  pleased  fate  to  take  me  again  unawares, 
and  experience  again,  through  you,  those  tor- 
ments which,  it  would  have  seemed,  ought  never 
more  to  have  been  repeated.  .  .  But  I  have  re- 
sisted .  .  have  tried  to  resist  .  .  in  vain;  yes, 
plainly,  what  is  fated  to  be  cannot  be  avoided. 
But  I  am  telling  you  all  this  for  the  purpose  of 
putting  an  end,  as  soon  as  possible  to  this  .  .  . 
this  tragi-comedy,"— he  added  with  a  fresh  access 
of  exasperation  and  shame. 

Again  Litvinoff  fell  silent;  the  butterfly  con- 
tinued to  struggle  and  flutter.  Irina  did  not  re- 
move her  hands  from  her  face. 

"  And  you  are  not  deceiving  yourself?  " — her 
whisper  became  audible  from  beneath  those  white, 
seemingly  bloodless  hands. 

"  I  am  not  deceiving  myself," — replied  Litvi- 
noff in  a  hollow  voice. — "  I  love  you  as  I  have 
never  loved,  or  loved  any  one  but  you.  I  am  not 
going  to  reproach  you:  that  would  be  too  foolish; 
I  will  not  repeat  to  you  that  perhaps  nothing  of 
this  sort  would  have  happened  had  you  behaved 
differently  toward  me.  .  .  .  Of  course,  I  alone 
am  to  blame,  my  self-confidence  has  been  my  un- 
doing; but  I  am  rightly  chastised,  and  you  could 
not  possibly  have  expected  this.  Of  course,  you 
did  not  take  into  consideration  that  it  would  have 

18fi 


SMOKE 

been  far  less  dangerous  for  me  if  you  had  not  felt 
your  fault  so  vividly  .  .  .  your  imaginary  fault 
toward  me,  and  had  not  wished  to  atone  for  it 
.  . .  but  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone,  of  course. 
.  .  I  only  wanted  to  explain  to  you  my  position : 
it  is  sufficiently  painful  as  it  is.  .  .  At  all  events, 
there  will  be  no  misunderstanding,  as  you  say, 
but  the  frankness  of  my  confession  will,  I  hope, 
mitigate  that  feeling  of  insult  which  you  cannot 
fail  to  feel." 

Litvinoff  spoke  without  raising  his  eyes;  and 
if  he  had  glanced  at  Irina,  still  he  could  not  have 
seen  what  was  going  on  in  her  face,  because,  as 
before,  she  did  not  remove  her  hands.  Neverthe- 
less, what  was  taking  place  on  her  face  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  amazed  him:  it  expressed 
both  fear  and  joy,  and  a  certain  blissful  exhaus- 
tion and  agitation;  the  eyes  barely  glimmered 
beneath  the  drooping  lids,  and  the  long-drawn, 
broken  breathing  chilled  the  lips  which  were 
parted  as  though  in  thirst.  .  .  . 

Litvinoff  maintained  silence,  waited  for  a  re- 
ply, a  sound.  .  .  Nothing! 

"  But  one  thing  is  left  for  me  to  do," — he  be- 
gan again: — "  to  go  away;  I  am  come  to  bid  you 
farewell." 

Irina  slowly  dropped  her  hands  upon  her 
knees. 

"  But  I  remember,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"— 
she  began: — "that  .  .  that  person,  of  whom  you 

187. 


SMOKE 

spoke  to  me,  was  to  come  hither.  You  are  ex- 
pecting her? " 

"  Yes;  but  I  shall  write  to  her  .  .  .  she  will 
stop  somewhere  on  the  way  .  .  in  Heidelberg, 
for  instance." 

"  Ah !  In  Heidelberg.  .  .  Yes.  .  It  is  pleasant 
there.  .  .  But  all  this  must  disturb  your  plans. 
Are  you  sure,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  that  you 
are  not  exaggerating,  et  que  ce  nest  pas  une 
fausse  alar  me?  " 

Irina  spoke  quietly,  almost  coldly,  and  with 
little  pauses,  and  glances  aside,  in  the  direction  of 
the  window.  Litvinoff  did  not  answer  her  last 
question. 

"  But  why  have  you  alluded  to  the  insult?  " — 
she  went  on.—"  I  am  not  insulted  .  .  .  oh,  no! 
And  if  either  of  us  is  to  blame,  then,  in  any  case, 
it  is  not  you;  not  you  alone.  .  .  Remember  our 
last  conversations,  and  you  will  be  convinced  that 
it  is  not  you." 

"  I  have  never  had  any  doubt  of  your  magna- 
nimity,"— ejaculated  Litvinoff  through  his  teeth: 
—  "but  I  should  like  to  know:  do  you  approve 
of  my  intention? " 

"To  go  away?" 

"  Yes." 

Irina  continued  to  gaze  to  one  side. 

"  At  the  first  moment  your  intention  seemed 
to  me  to  be  premature  .  .  .  but  now  I  have 
thought   over   what   you   said  .  .  .  and   if   you 

188 


SMOKE 

really  are  not  making  a  mistake,  then  I  suppose 
that  you  ought  to  go.  It  will  be  better  so  .  .  . 
better  for  both  of  us." 

Irina's  voice  had  grown  more  and  more 
quiet,  and  her  very  speech  became  slower  and 
slower. 

"  General  Ratmiroff ,  really,  might  notice  it," 
— LitvinofF  began.  .  .  . 

Irina's  eyes  dropped  again,  and  something 
strange  nickered  around  her  lips  .  .  flickered 
and  vanished. 

"  No,  you  do  not  understand  me,"— she  inter- 
rupted him.  —  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  hus- 
band. Why  should  I  ?  There  would  be  nothing 
for  him  to  notice.  But,  I  repeat  it:  separation 
is  indispensable  for  both  of  us." 

LitvinofF  took  up  his  hat,  which  had  fallen  to 
the  floor. 

"  Everything  is. over," — he  thought:—"  I  must 
go."—"  And  so  it  only  remains  for  me  to  take 
leave  of  you,  Irina  Pavlovna," — he  said  aloud, 
and  suddenly  dread  fell  upon  him,  exactly  as 
though  he  were  on  the  point  of  pronouncing  his 
own  sentence. — "  I  can  only  hope  that  you  will 
not  bear  me  any  ill-will  ....  and  that  if,  some- 
times, we  .  .  .  ." 

Again  Irina  interrupted  him: 

"  Wait,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  do  not  bid  me 
farewell  yet.    That  would  be  over-hasty." 

Something  quivered  within  LitvinofF,  but  a 

189 


SMOKE 

burning  bitterness  surged  up  on  the  instant,  and 
with  redoubled  force,  in  his  heart. 

"But  I  cannot  remain!" — he  exclaimed. — 
"To  what  end?     Why  prolong  this  anguish?" 

"  Do  not  bid  me  farewell  yet,"— repeated 
Irina.  .  "  I  must  see  you  once  more.  .  .  Again 
the  same  sort  of  dumb  parting  as  in  Moscow, — 
no,  I  will  not  have  that.  You  may  go  now,  but 
you  must  promise  me,  give  me  your  word  of  hon- 
our, that  you  will  not  take  your  departure  with- 
out having  seen  me  once  more." 

*  You  wish  that?  " 

"  I  demand  it.  If  you  go  away  without  having 
taken  leave  of  me,  I  will  never,  never  forgive 
you.  Do  you  hear:  never!  "— "  It  is  strange!  " 
— she  added,  as  though  speaking  to  herself:—"  I 
cannot  possibly  realise  that  I  am  in  Baden.  .  .  I 
keep  feeling  that  I  am  in  Moscow.  .  .  Go.  ." 

Litvinoff  rose. 

"  Irina  Pavlovna,"  he  said,—"  give  me  your 
hand." 

Irina  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  will  not  bid  you  fare- 
well. .  ." 

"  I  am  not  asking  it  for  a  farewell.  .  ." 

Irina  was  on  the  point  of  giving  him  her  hand, 
but  glanced  at  Litvinoff  for  the  first  time  since 
his  confession, — and  drew  it  back. 

"  No,  no,"— she  whispered,—"  I  will  not  give 
you  my  hand.    No  .  .  .  no.    Go." 

190 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff  bowed  and  left  the  room.  He  could 
not   know   why   Irina   had   refused   him   a   last 

friendly    pressure He    could    not  know 

that  she  was  afraid. 

He  left  the  room,  and  Irina  again  sank  down 
in  the  arm-chair,  and  again  covered  her  face. 


191 


XVII 

Litvinoff  did  not  return  home:  he  went  off  to 
the  mountains,  and  making  his  way  into  the  den- 
sity of  the  forest,  threw  himself  on  the  earth,  face 
downward,  and  lay  there  for  about  an  hour.  He 
did  not  suffer,  he  did  not  weep;  he  lay  in  a  sort 
of  painful,  agonising  swoon.  Never  before  had 
he  experienced  anything  of  the  sort :  there  was  an 
intolerably  aching,  gnawing  sensation  of  empti- 
ness, of  emptiness  in  himself,  around  him  every- 
where. .  .  He  did  not  think  either  of  Irina  or  of 
Tatyana.  He  felt  one  thing:  the  blow  had  fallen, 
and  life  had  been  cut  in  twain  like  a  rope,  and  he 
was  entirely  drawn  forward  and  seized  upon  by 
something  unknown,  yet  cold.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  to  him  that  a  whirlwind  had  descended 
upon  him,  and  he  felt  its  swift  gyrations  and  the 
confused  beatings  of  its  dark  pinions.  .  .  But  his 
decision  did  not  waver.  .  Remain  in  Baden  .  .  . 
such  a  thing  was  not  even  to  be  mentioned.  Men- 
tally, he  had  already  taken  his  departure :  he  was 
already  seated  in  the  rattling  and  smoking  rail- 
way-carriage, and  fleeing,  fleeing  into  the  dumb, 
dead  distance.  He  rose  up,  at  last,  and  leaning 
his  head  against  a  tree,  remained  motionless ;  only 

192 


SMOKE 

with  one  hand,  without  himself  being  conscious 
of  it,  he  had  grasped  the  highest  frond  of  a  fern, 
and  was  swaying  it  to  and  fro  with  a  regular  beat. 
The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  aroused  him 
from  his  torpor;  two  charcoal-burners,  with  large 
sacks  on  their  shoulders,  were  making  their  way 
along  the  steep  path.  '  It  is  time!  "  whispered 
LitvinofF,  and  followed  the  charcoal-burners 
down  the  path  to  the  town,  turned  into  the  rail- 
way building,  and  despatched  a  telegram  to  Tat- 
yana's  aunt,  Kapitolina  Markovna.  In  this  tele- 
gram he  informed  her  of  his  immediate  departure, 
and  appointed  a  meeting  with  her  in  Schrader's 
hotel,  in  Heidelberg.  '  If  an  end  is  to  be  made, 
it  had  better  be  made  at  once," — he  thought; — 
'  there  is  no  use  in  deferring  it  until  to-morrow." 
Then  he  entered  the  gaming-room,  with  dull  curi- 
osity stared  two  or  three  players  in  the  face, 
descried  from  afar  Bindasoff's  hideous  nape, 
Pishtchalkin's  irreproachable  face,  and,  after 
standing  for  a  little  while  under  the  colonnade,  he 
betook  himself,  without  haste,  to  Irina.  It  was 
not  at  the  instigation  of  a  sudden,  involuntary 
impulse  that  he  went  to  her;  when  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  depart,  he  had  also  made  it  up  to 
keep  the  word  he  had  pledged,  and  to  see  her  once 
again.  He  entered  the  hotel  without  being  per- 
ceived by  the  door-porter,  ascended  the  staircase 
without  meeting  any  one,  and,  without  knocking 
at  the  door,  mechanically  pushed  it  open,  and  en- 

B<98 


SMOKE 

tered  the  room.  In  the  room,  in  the  same  arm- 
chair, in  the  same  gown,  in  the  same  attitude  as 
three  hours  before,  sat  Irina.  .  .  It  was  evident 
that  she  had  not  stirred  from  the  spot,  had  not 
moved  during  all  that  time.  She  slowly  raised 
her  head,  and  on  perceiving  LitvinofF,  shuddered 
all  over,  and  grasped  the  arms  of  the  chair. — 
"  You  have  frightened  me," — she  whispered. 

Litvinoff  regarded  her  with  speechless  amaze- 
ment. The  expression  of  her  face,  of  her  sunken 
eyes,  impressed  him. 

Irina  smiled  in  a  forced  way  and  adjusted  her 
hair,  which  had  fallen  out  of  curl. 

"  It  does  not  matter.  .  .  I,  really,  I  do  not 
know.  .  I  think  I  have  been  asleep  here." 

"  Excuse  me,  Irina  Pavlovna," — began  Litvi- 
noff,— "  I  entered  without  being  announced.  .  I 
wished  to  comply  with  what  you  were  pleased  to 
demand  of  me.  And,  as  I  am  going  away  to- 
day .  .  ." 

"  To-day?  But  I  thought  you  told  me  that  you 
wished  first  to  write  a  letter.  .  ." 

"  I  have  sent  a  telegram." 

"  Ah!  You  found  it  necessary  to  make  haste. 
And  when  do  you  leave?  At  what  o'clock,  I 
mean  ? 

"  At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening." 

"  Ah !  At  seven  o'clock !  And  you  have  come 
to  say  farewell?  " 

"  Yes,  Irina  Pavlovna,  to  say  farewell." 

194 


SMOKE 

Irina  remained  silent  for  a  while. 

"  I  must  thank  you,  Grigory  Mikhailitch ; 
you  probably  did  not  find  it  easy  to  come 
hither." 

'  No,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it  was  very  far  from 
easy." 

"  Life  is  not  easy,  altogether,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailitch; what  do  you  think?  " 

'  That  depends  on  the  person,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna." 

Again  Irina  remained  silent  for  a  space,  as 
though  in  meditation. 

You  have  shown  your  friendship  for  me  by 
coming,"— she  said,  at  last.  —  "  I  thank  you. 
And,  altogether,  I  entirely  approve  of  your  de- 
cision to  make  an  end  of  it  all  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible, .  .  .  because  every  delay  .  .  .  because  .  .  . 
because  I,  that  very  same  I  whom  you  accused  of 
coquetry,  whom  you  called  a  comedian,— I  be- 
lieve that  was  what  you  called  me?  .  ." 

Irina  rose  hastily,  and  seating  herself  in  an- 
other arm-chair,  bent  over  and  pressed  her  face 
and  hands  against  the  edge  of  the  table.  .  . 

"  Because  I  love  you  .  .  ."  she  whispered, 
through  her  tightly-clasped  fingers. 

LitvinofF  staggered  back,  as  though  some  one 
had  struck  him  in  the  breast.  Irina  sadly  turned 
her  head  away  from  him,  as  though  desirous,  in 
her  turn,  of  hiding  her  face  from  him,  and  laid 
it  on  the  table. 

195 


SMOKE 

"  Yes,  I  love  you.  ...  I  love  you  .  .  .  and 
you  know  it." 

"I?  I  know  it?  "— Litvinoff  uttered,  at  last. 
-"I?" 

"  Well,  and  now  you  see," — pursued  Irina, — 
"  that  you  really  must  go,  that  there  must  be  no 
delay, — that  we,  that  I  can  suffer  no  delay.  It  is 
dangerous,  it  is  terrible.  .  .  Good-bye ! "  she 
added,  rising  impetuously  from  her  chair. 

She  took  several  steps  in  the  direction  of  the 
door  to  her  boudoir,  and  thrusting  her  hand  be- 
hind her  back,  she  hastily  moved  it  through  the 
air,  as  though  desirous  of  encountering  and  press- 
ing Litvinoff's  hand;  but  he  stood,  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot,  at  a  distance.  .  .  .  Once  more 
she  said,  "  Farewell,  forget,"  and  without  glanc- 
ing behind  her,  fled  from  the  room. 

Litvinoff  was  left  alone,  and  still  could  not  re- 
cover himself.  He  came  to  his  senses  at  last, 
swiftly  approached  the  door  of  the  boudoir,  utter- 
ing Irfna's  name  once,  twice,  thrice.  .  .  He  had 
already  laid  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door.  .  . 
The  ringing  voice  of  Ratmfroff  made  itself  audi- 
ble from  the  porch  of  the  hotel. 

Litvinoff  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and 
went  out  to  the  staircase.  The  elegant  general 
was  standing  in  front  of  the  porter's  lodge,  and 
explaining  to  him,  in  imperfect  German,  that  he 
wished  to  hire  a  carriage  for  the  whole  of  the 
following  day.     On  catching  sight  of  Litvinoff, 

196 


SMOKE 

he  again  raised  his  hat  abnormally  high,  and 
again  expressed  his  "  respect  " :  he  was  evidently 
scoffing  at  him,  but  Litvinoff  cared  nothing  for 
that.  He  barely  returned  Ratmiroff's  salutation, 
and  on  reaching  his  own  quarters,  he  paused  in 
front  of  his  trunk,  already  packed  and  closed. 
His  head  was  in  a  whirl,  and  his  heart  was  quiver- 
ing like  a  chord.  What  was  to  be  done  now  ?  And 
could  he  have  foreseen  this? 

Yes,  he  had  foreseen  it,  incredible  as  it  might 
seem.  It  had  stunned  him  like  a  clap  of  thunder,  • 
but  he  had  foreseen  it,  although  he  had  not  dared 
to  admit  it.  But  he  had  known  nothing  with  cer- 
tainty. Everything  had  got  jumbled  up  within 
him;  he  had  lost  the  thread  of  his  own  thoughts. 
He  recalled  Moscow,  he  recalled  how  "  it "  had 
descended  upon  him  then  like  a  sudden  hurricane. 
He  felt  suffocated:  ecstasy — but  a  desolate, 
hopeless  ecstasy — choked  and  rent  his  breast. 
Not  for  anything  in  the  world  would  he  have  con- 
sented that  the  words  uttered  by  Irina  should  not 
really  have  been  uttered  by  her.  .  .  But  what 
then?  All  the  same,  those  words  could  not  alter 
the  resolution  he  had  already  taken.  As  before, 
it  did  not  waver,  but  held  firmly  like  an  anchor 
which  has  been  cast.  Litvinoff  had  lost  the 
thread  of  his  thoughts  .  .  .  yes;  but  his  will  re- 
mained with  him  still,  and  he  gave  himself  orders 
as  he  would  have  given  them  to  a  strange  man, 
his  subordinate.     He  rang  the  bell  for  a  waiter, 

197 


SMOKE 

ordered  his  bill  to  be  brought,  engaged  a  seat  in 
the  evening  omnibus:  he  deliberately  cut  off  all 
his  roads.  '  Even  if  I  die  there  afterward,"  he 
kept  repeating,  as  he  had  done  during  the  pre- 
ceding sleepless  night;  this  phrase  was  particu- 
larly to  his  taste.  —  "  Even  if  I  die  there  after- 
ward," he  repeated,  as  he  slowly  paced  to  and 
fro  in  his  chamber,  only  closing  his  eyes  and  ceas- 
ing to  breathe  from  time  to  time  involuntarily 
when  those  words,  those  words  of  Irina  invaded 
his  soul,  and  seared  it  as  with  fire.  '  Evidently, 
one  does  not  love  twice,"  he  thought:  "another 
life  has  entered  into  yours,  you  have  admitted 
it — you  cannot  rid  yourself  of  that  poison  to  the 
end,  you  cannot  break  those  threads!  Just  so; 
but  what  does  that  prove?  Happiness.  .  .  Is 
that  possible?  You  love  her,  let  us  assume  .  .  . 
and  she  .  .  .  she  loves  you.  .  ." 

But  at  this  point  he  was  again  compelled  to 
take  himself  in  hand.  As  a  wayfarer,  in  a  dark 
night,  who  descries  ahead  of  him  a  tiny  light  and 
fears  to  lose  his  road,  does  not  remove  his  eyes 
from  it  for  an  instant,  so  also  Litvinoff  unremit- 
tingly concentrated  the  full  force  of  his  attention 
upon  one  point,  upon  one  goal.  To  present  him- 
self to  his  affianced  bride,  and  even  not  actually 
to  his  bride  (he  tried  not  to  think  of  her) ,  but  in 
the  room  of  the  Heidelberg  hotel — that  is  what 
stood  before  him  steadfastly,  as  his  guiding  light. 
What  was  to  come  afterward  he  did  not  know, 

198 


SMOKE 

and  did  not  wish  to  know.  .  .  .  One  thing  was 
indubitable :  he  would  not  turn  back.  "  Even  if  I 
die  there,"  he  repeated  for  the  tenth  time,  and 
glanced  at  his  watch. 

A  quarter  past  six !  How  long  he  still  had  to 
wait!  Again  he  strode  back  and  forth.  The  sun 
was  declining  to  its  setting,  the  sky  was  glowing 
red  over  the  trees,  and  a  crimson  twilight  fell 
through  the  narrow  windows  into  his  darkening 
room.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Litvinoff  as 
though  the  door  had  been  opened  softly  and 
swiftly  behind  him,  and  as  swiftly  closed  again. 
.  .  He  turned  round ;  by  the  door,  enveloped  in  a 
black  mantilla,  stood  a  woman.  .  . 

"Irina!"  he  cried,  and  clasped  his  hands.  .  . 

She  raised  her  head,  and  fell  upon  his  breast. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  seated  on  his  divan.  His 
trunk  stood  in  a  corner,  open  and  empty,  and  on 
the  table,  amid  articles  scattered  there  in  confu- 
sion, lay  a  letter  from  Tatyana  which  Litvinoff 
had  just  received.  She  wrote  him  that  she  had 
decided  to  hasten  her  departure  from  Dresden, 
as  her  aunt's  health  was  entirely  restored,  and 
that  if  no  obstacles  intervened  they  would  both 
arrive  in  Baden  at  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following 
day,  and  hoped  that  he  would  meet  them  at  the 
railway  station.  Litvinoff  had  engaged  apart- 
ments for  them  in  the  same  hotel  where  he  was 
stopping. 

199 


SMOKE 

That  same  evening  he  sent  a  note  to  Irina,  and 
on  the  following  morning  he  received  an  answer 
from  her.  '  A  day  sooner  or  a  day  later,"— she 
wrote,  "  it  was  inevitable.  I  repeat  to  thee  what 
I  said  last  night :  my  life  is  in  thy  hands,  do  with 
me  as  thou  wilt.  I  do  not  wish  to  put  any  re- 
straint upon  thy  freedom,  but  thou  must  know 
that,  in  case  of  necessity,  I  will  abandon  every- 
thing, and  will  follow  thee  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
We  shall  see  each  other  to-morrow,  shall  we  not? 
Thy  Irina." 

The  last  two  words  were  written  in  a  large., 
bold,  decided  chirography. 


200 


XVIII 

Among  the  persons  who  assembled,  on  the  18th  of 
August,  about  twelve  o'clock,  on  the  platform  of 
the  railway  station  was  Litvinoff .  Not  long  be- 
fore he  had  met  Irina.  She  was  sitting  in  an  open 
carriage  with  her  husband  and  another  person,  a 
gentleman  already  elderly.  She  had  seen  Litvi- 
noff, and  he  had  perceived  it:  something  dark 
had  flitted  across  her  eyes,  but  she  immediately 
concealed  herself  from  him  with  her  parasol. 

A  strange  change  had  taken  place  in  him  since 
the  preceding  day — in  his  whole  exterior,  in  his 
movements,  in  the  expression  of  his  face;  and  he 
himself  felt  that  he  was  another  man.  His  self- 
confidence  had  vanished,  his  composure  had  van- 
ished also,  along  with  his  self-respect;  nothing 
was  left  of  his  former  spiritual  state.  Recent  in- 
effaceable impressions  had  shut  out  everything 
else.  A  certain  unprecedented  sensation,  strong, 
sweet — and  malign,  had  made  its  appearance;  a 
mysterious  guest  had  made  his  way  into  the  sanc- 
tuary, and  had  taken  possession  of  it,  and  had  lain 
down  therein  silently,  but  at  full  length,  as  master 
of  the  new  domicile.  Litvinoff  no  longer  felt 
ashamed,  he  was  afraid— and,  at  the  same  time, 

201 


SMOKE 

a  desperate  hardihood  was  kindled  within  him; 
this  mixture  of  conflicting  feelings  is  familiar  to 
captives,  to  the  conquered ;  it  is  not  unknown  also 
to  the  thief,  after  he  has  robbed  a  church.  But 
Litvinoff  had  been  conquered — conquered  sud- 
denly; .  .  .  and  what  had  become  of  his  honour? 

The  train  was  a  few  minutes  late.  Litvinoff's 
languor  passed  into  torturing  anguish:  he  could 
not  stand  still  in  one  place,  and,  deathly  pale,  he 
squeezed  and  forced  his  way  among  the  people. 
"  My  God,"  he  thought,  "  if  I  might  have  just 
one  more  day.  .  ."  His  first  glance  at  Tanya, 
Tanya's  first  glance  .  .  .  that  was  what  alarmed 
him,  that  was  what  he  must  get  through  with  as 
speedily  as  possible.  .  .  And  afterward?  After- 
ward—come what  might!  .  .  .  He  no  longer  ar- 
rived at  any  decisions,  he  no  longer  answered  for 
himself.  His  phrase  of  yesterday  flashed  pain- 
fully through  his  head.  .  .  And  that  is  how  he  is 
meeting  Tanya.  .  . 

A  prolonged  whistle  resounded  at  last,  a  dull 
roar,  which  momentarily  increased,  became  audi- 
ble, and  rolling  slowly  from  behind  the  road- 
gates,  the  locomotive  made  its  appearance.  The 
crowd  advanced  to  meet  it,  and  Litvinoff  ad- 
vanced after  it,  dragging  his  feet  like  a  con- 
demned man.  Faces,  ladies'  hats,  began  to  show 
themselves  from  the  carriages,  in  one  small  win- 
dow a  white  handkerchief  began  to  gleam.  .  . 
Kapitolina  Markovna  was  waving  it.  .  .  It  was 

202 


SMOKE 

over;  she  had  seen  Litvinoff,  and  he  had  recog- 
nised her.  The  train  came  to  a  standstill,  Litvi- 
noff rushed  to  the  door  and  opened  it:  Tatyana 
was  standing  by  the  side  of  her  aunt,  and  smiling 
brightly,  offered  him  her  hand. 

He  helped  them  both  to  alight,  uttered  a  few 
courteous  words,  incomplete  and  obscure,  and  im- 
mediately began  to  bustle  about,  began  to  collect 
their  tickets,  their  travelling-bags,  their  plaids, 
ran  off  to  hunt  up  a  porter,  called  a  carriage; 
other  people  were  bustling  about  around  him,  and 
he  rejoiced  at  their  presence,  their  noise  and  their 
shouts.  Tatyana  stepped  a  little  to  one  side,  and 
without  ceasing  to  smile,  calmly  awaited  the  con- 
clusion of  his  hasty  preparations.  Kapitolina 
Markovna,  on  the  contrary,  could  not  stand  still ; 
she  would  not  believe  that  she  had  at  last  got  to 
Baden.  She  suddenly  cried  out:  "  And  the  um- 
brellas? Tanya,  where  are  the  umbrellas?"  not 
noticing  that  she  was  holding  them  firmly  under 
her  arm;  then  she  began  to  bid  a  loud  and  pro- 
longed farewell  to  another  lady,  whose  acquain- 
tance she  had  made  during  the  journey  from 
Heidelberg  to  Baden.  The  lady  was  none  other 
than  Madame  Sukhantchikoff ,  already  known  to 
us.  She  had  betaken  herself  to  Heidelberg  to 
worship  Gubaryoff ,  and  had  returned  with  "  in- 
structions." Kapitolina  Markovna  wore  a  de- 
cidedly queer  striped  mantle,  and  a  round  travel- 
ling-hat, in  the  shape  of  a  mushroom,  from  be- 

203. 


SMOKE 

neath  which  her  closely-clipped  white  hair  stuck 
out  in  disarray;  short  of  stature  and  gaunt,  she 
had  got  very  red  with  the  journey,  and  was  talk- 
ing in  Russian,  with  a  shrill  and  chanting  voice. 
.  .  People  noticed  her  immediately. 

At  last  Litvinoff  seated  her  and  Tatyana  in  a 
carriage,  and  placed  himself  opposite  them.  The 
horses  started  off.  Inquiries  began,  hands  were 
shaken  afresh,  there  were  mutual  smiles,  greet- 
ings. .  .  Litvinoff  breathed  freely:  the  first  mo- 
ments had  passed  off  successfully.  Evidently, 
nothing  about  him  had  struck  or  disturbed 
Tanya:  she  looked  at  him  as  clearly  and  confid- 
ingly, she  blushed  as  prettily,  she  laughed  as 
good-naturedly  as  ever.  At  last  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  look  at  her,  not  fleetingly  and  super- 
ficially, but  directly  and  intently :  up  to  that  time 
his  own  eyes  had  not  obeyed  him.  Involuntary 
emotion  clutched  his  heart:  the  tranquil  expres- 
sion of  that  honest,  open  countenance  found  echo 
within  him  in  bitter  reproach.  "  Here — thou  hast 
come  hither,  poor  girl,"— he  thought:— "  thou, 
whom  I  so  waited  for  and  longed  for,  with  whom 
I  wished  to  pass  my  life  until  its  end— thou  hast 
come,  and  thou  hast  trusted  me  .  .  .  but  I  .  .  . 
but  I  .  .  ."  Litvinoff  dropped  his  head;  but 
Kapitolina  Markovna  gave  him  no  opportunity 
for  meditation ;  she  showered  questions  upon  him. 

"What  is  that  building  with  the  pillars? 
Where  do  they  gamble?    Who  is  that  coming? 

204 


SMOKE 

Tanya,  Tanya,  look,  what  crinolines!  And  who 
is  that  yonder?  They  must  be  chiefly  French 
people  from  Paris  here?  Only  I  imagine  every- 
thing is  frightfully  dear.  Akh,  with  what  a 
splendid,  clever  woman  I  have  made  acquain- 
tance! You  know  her,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch ; 
she  told  me  that  she  had  met  you  at  a  certain  Rus- 
sian's, also  a  wonderfully  clever  person.  She 
promised  to  call  on  us.  How  she  does  abuse  all 
these  aristocrats — it 's  simply  marvellous!  What 
gentleman  is  that  with  the  white  moustache  ?  The 
King  of  Prussia?  Tanya,  Tanya,  look,  that  is 
the  King  of  Prussia!  No?  it  isn't  the  King  of 
Prussia?  The  Ambassador  from  Holland?  I 
can't  hear,  the  wheels  rumble  so.  Akh,  what  mag- 
nificent trees!  " 

;  Yes,  aunty,  magnificent," — assented  Tanya: 
— "  and  how  green  and  cheerful  everything  is 
here !    Is  n't  it,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch  ?  " 

'  It  is  cheerful  .  .  ."he  answered  her,  through 
his  teeth. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  last  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  LitvinofF  escorted  the  two  travellers  to 
the  rooms  reserved  for  them,  promised  to  look  in 
in  the  course  of  an  hour,  and  returned  to  his  own 
room.  The  spell,  which  had  subsided  for  a  mo- 
ment, immediately  took  possession  of  him  as  soon 
as  he  entered  it.  Here  in  this  room  Irfna  had 
reigned  since  the  preceding  day;  everything 
spoke  of  her,  the  very  air  seemed  to  have  pre- 

205 


SMOKE 

served  mysterious  traces  of  her  visit.  .  .  Again 
Litvinoff  felt  that  he  was  her  slave.  He  pulled 
forth  her  handkerchief,  which  he  had  hidden  in 
his  breast,  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  and  burning  mem- 
ories, like  delicate  poison,  diffused  themselves 
through  his  veins.  He  understood  that  there  was 
no  turning  back  now,  no  choice ;  the  painful  emo- 
tion aroused  in  him  by  Tatyana  melted  like  snow 
in  the  fire,  and  repentance  died  within  him  .  .  . 
died — so  that  even  the  agitation  within  him  was 
allayed,  and  the  possibility  of  dissimulation, 
which  presented  itself  to  his  mind,  did  not  revolt 
him.  .  .  Love,  Irina's  love — that  was  what  had 
now  become  his  righteousness,  his  law,  his  con- 
science. .  .  The  prudent,  sensible  Litvinoff  did 
not  even  reflect  how  he  was  to  extricate  himself 
from  a  situation  the  horror  and  indecency  of 
which  he  felt  lightly  and  in  an  indirect  manner, 
as  it  were. 

An  hour  had  not  elapsed  when  a  waiter  pre- 
sented himself  to  Litvinoff,  sent  by  the  newly- 
arrived  ladies:  they  requested  him  to  be  so  good 
as  to  come  to  them  in  their  sitting-room.  He  fol- 
lowed their  emissary,  and  found  them  already 
dressed,  and  with  their  hats  on.  Both  expressed 
a  desire  to  set  off  at  once  to  inspect  Baden,  seeing 
that  the  weather  was  very  fine  indeed.  Kapi- 
tolina  Markovna,  in  particular,  was  fairly  burn- 
ing with  impatience;  she  was  even  somewhat 
vexed  to  learn  that  the  hour  for  the  fashionable 

206 


SMOKE 

gathering  in  front  of  the  Konversationshaus  had 
not  yet  arrived.  Litvinoff  gave  her  his  arm,  and 
the  official  promenade  began.  Tatyana  walked 
by  the  side  of  her  aunt,  and  gazed  about  her  with 
calm  curiosity;  Kapitolina  Markovna  continued 
her  interrogatories.  The  sight  of  the  roulette, 
of  the  stately  croupiers,  whom  she  would  cer- 
tainly—had she  met  them  in  any  other  place, — 
have  taken  for  Cabinet  Ministers,  of  their 
brisk  little  shovels,  of  the  golden  and  silver 
heaps  on  the  green  cloth,  of  the  gambling  old 
women  and  painted  courtesans  put  Kapitolina 
Markovna  into  a  state  akin  to  dumb  rapture; 
she  totally  forgot  that  she  ought  to  feel  indig- 
nant—and only  stared,  and  stared,  with  all  her 
eyes,  quivering,  from  time  to  time,  with  every 
fresh  exclamation.  .  .  The  buzzing  of  the  ivory 
ball  in  the  depths  of  the  roulette  penetrated  to  the 
very  marrow  of  her  bones — and  only  when  she 
found  herself  in  the  open  air  did  she  gain  suffi- 
cient command  over  herself  to  designate  the 
game  of  chance,  with  a  profound  sigh,  as  an  im- 
moral invention  of  aristocratism.  A  fixed,  ma- 
licious smile  made  its  appearance  on  Litvinoff's 
lips;  he  talked  abruptly  and  indolently,  as  though 
he  were  vexed  or  bored.  .  .  But  now  he  turned  to 
Tatyana,  and  was  seized  with  secret  discomfiture : 
she  was  gazing  attentively  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression as  though  she  were  asking  herself  what 
sort  of  an  impression  was  being  aroused  within 

207 


SMOKE 

her?  He  made  haste  to  nod  his  head  at  her;  she 
replied  to  him  in  the  same  way,  and  again  looked 
at  him  inquiringly,  not  without  a  certain  effort, 
as  though  he  stood  a  great  deal  further  away  from 
her  than  he  did  in  reality.  Litvinoff  led  his  ladies 
away  from  the  Konversationshaus,  and  avoiding 
"  the  Russian  tree,"  under  which  his  fellow- 
countrymen  were  already  encamped,  took  his  way 
to  Lichtenthaler  Avenue.  No  sooner  had  he  en- 
tered the  avenue  than  he  descried  Irina  from 
afar. 

She  was  walking  toward  him  with  her  husband 
and  Potiigin.  Litvinoff  turned  pale  as  a  sheet, 
but  did  not  retard  his  pace,  and  when  he  came 
on  a  level  with  her  he  made  her  a  silent  bow.  And 
she  bowed  to  him,  pleasantly  but  coldly,  and  scru- 
tinising Tatyana  with  a  swift  glance,  she  slipped 
past.  .  .  Ratmiroff  raised  his  hat  very  high,  Po- 
tugin  mumbled  something. 

"  Who  is  that  lady?  " — suddenly  inquired  Ta- 
tyana. Up  to  that  moment  she  had  hardly  opened 
her  lips. 

"That  lady?"— repeated  Litvinoff.— "  That 
lady?    She  is  a  certain  Madame  Ratmiroff." 

"A  Russian?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  make  her  acquaintance  here?  " 

"  No;  I  have  known  her  this  long  time." 

"  How  beautiful  she  is!  " 

"  Did  you  notice  her  toilette?  "—put  in  Kapi- 

208 


SMOKE 

tolina  Markovna. — "  Ten  families  might  be  fed 
for  a  whole  year  for  the  money  which  her  laces 
alone  are  worth.    Was  that  her  husband  walking 
with  her?  "—she  inquired  of  LitvinofF. 
les. 

"  He  must  be  frightfully  rich." 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know;  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  And  what  is  his  rank?  " 

"  That  of  general." 

"  What  eyes  she  has!  "—remarked  Tatyana:— 
"  and  the  expression  of  them  is  so  strange:  both 
thoughtful  and  penetrating.  .  .  I  have  never 
seen  such  eyes." 

LitvinofF  made  no  reply ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  again  felt  on  his  face  Tatyana's  questioning 
glance,  but  he  was  mistaken :  she  was  looking  un- 
der her  feet  at  the  sand  of  the  path. 

"Good  heavens!  Who  is  that  monster?"— 
suddenly  exclaimed  Kapitolina  Markovna,  point- 
ing with  her  finger  at  a  low  char-a-bancs,  in 
which,  boldly  lolling,  lay  a  ruddy-haired,  snub- 
nosed  woman,  in  an  unusually  rich  costume  and 
lilac  stockings. 

"  That  monster!  Goodness,  that  is  the  famous 
Mademoiselle  Cora." 

"  Who?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  Cora  ...  a  Parisian  .... 
celebrity." 

"  What?  that  pug-dog?  Why,  she  is  extremely 
ugly!" 

209 


SMOKE 

"  Evidently,  that  is  no  hindrance."  Kapito- 
lina  Markovna  simply  flung  out  her  hands  with 
amazement. 

"  Well,  your  Baden!  "—she  ejaculated  at  last. 
— "  But  may  we  sit  down  on  this  bench?  I  feel 
rather  fatigued." 

"  Of  course  you  may,  Kapitolina  Markovna.  .  . 
That 's  what  the  benches  are  placed  here  for." 

"  Well,  the  Lord  only  knows!  They  say  that 
off  there,  in  Paris,  benches  stand  on  the  boule- 
vards, also,  but  it  is  not  proper  to  sit  on  them." 

Litvinoff  made  no  reply  to  Kapitolina  Mar- 
kovna. Only  at  that  very  moment  did  he  reflect 
that  a  couple  of  paces  distant  was  the  very  spot 
where  he  had  had  with  Irfna  the  explanation 
which  had  settled  everything.  Then  he  recol- 
lected that  to-day  he  had  noticed  on  her  cheek  a 
tiny  red  spot.  .  . 

Kapitolina  Markovna  sank  down  on  the  bench, 
Tatyana  seated  herself  beside  her,  Litvinoff  re- 
mained on  the  path;  between  him  and  Tatyana 
—or  did  it  only  seem  so  to  him?— something  had 
taken  place  .  .  .  something  unconscious  and 
gradual. 

"  Akh,  she  is  queer,  she  is  queer,"— ejaculated 
Kapitolina  Markovna  compassionately,  shaking 
her  head.—"  Now,  if  you  were  to  sell  her  toilette, 
you  could  feed  not  ten,  but  a  hundred  families. 
Did  vou  see  the  diamonds  on  her  red  hair  under 
her  hat?    Diamonds  by  daylight,  hey? ' 

210 


SMOKE 

'  Her  hair  is  not  red,"— remarked  Litvfnoff  •, 
— "  she  dyes  it  to  a  reddish  hue;  that 's  the  fashion 
now." 

Again  Kapitolina  Markovna  threw  her  hands 
apart  in  amazement,  and  even  fell  into  medita- 
tion. 

'  Well,"— she  said  at  last,—"  we  have  n't 
gone  to  such  scandalous  lengths  in  Dresden  yet. 
Because,  after  all,  it  is  further  from  Paris. 
You  think  so  too,  don't  you,  Grigory  Mikhaf- 
litch?" 

'  I?  " — replied  Litvfnoff,  and  said  to  himself: 
'  What  the  deuce  is  she  talking  about?  "—"I? 
Of  course  ...  of  course.  .  ." 

But  here  hurried  footsteps  became  audible,  and 
Potugin  approached  the  bench. 

'  How  do  you  do,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"— 
he  said,  smiling,  and  nodding  his  head. 

Litvfnoff  immediately  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Good  afternoon,  good  afternoon,  Sozont 
Ivanitch.  I  think  I  met  you  just  now,  with  .  .  . 
just  now,  in  the  avenue." 

"  Yes,  it  was  I." 

Potugin  bowed  respectfully  to  the  ladies  as 
they  sat. 

"  Permit  me  to  introduce  you,  Sozont  Ivan- 
itch.  My  good  friends,  and  relatives,  have  only 
just  arrived  in  Baden.  Potugin,  Sozont  Ivan- 
itch,  a  fellow-countryman,  also  a  visitor  to 
Baden." 

211 


SMOKE 

Both  ladies  rose  slightly.  Potugin  repeated  his 
salutes. 

"  It  is  a  regular  rout  here,"  began  Kapitolina 
Markovna,  in  a  thin  little  voice;  the  kindly  old 
maid  was  easily  abashed,  but  she  tried  her  best 
to  keep  up  her  dignity:— "  every  one  regards  it 
as  a  pleasant  duty  to  come  here." 

"  Baden  really  is  a  very  agreeable  place," — 
replied  Potugin,  casting  a  sidelong  glance 
at  Tatyana; — "a  very  agreeable  place  is 
Baden." 

"Yes;  only  too  aristocratic,  so  far  as  I  can 
judge.  She  and  I  have  been  living  in  Dresden 
this  long  time  ...  it  is  a  very  interesting  town; 
but  it  is,  most  decidedly,  a  rout  here." 

"  She  has  taken  a  fancy  to  that  word,"  thought 
Potugin.  — "  Your  observation  is  perfectly  just," 
— he  said  aloud: — "  On  the  other  hand,  nature  is 
wonderful  here,  and  the  situation  is  such  as  is 
rarely  to  be  found.  Your  companion  must  par- 
ticularly appreciate  it.  Do  you  not,  madame?  " — 
he  added,  this  time  addressing  himself  directly  to 
Tatyana. 

Tatyana  raised  her  large,  clear  eyes  to  Potugin. 
She  seemed  rather  perplexed  as  to  what  was 
wanted  of  her,  and  why  Litvinoff  had  introduced 
her,  on  that  first  day  of  her  arrival,  to  that  strange 
man,  who  had,  however,  a  clever  and  amiable  face, 
and  who  looked  at  her  in  a  courteous  and  friendly 
manner. 

212 


SMOKE 


<< 


Yes," — she  said,  at  last, — "  it  is  very  pretty 
here." 

1  You  ought  to  visit  the  old  chateau," — went 
on  Potugin; — "in  particular,  I  recommend  you 
to  go  to  I  burg." 

"  The  Saxon  Switzerland,"— began  Kapitolina 
Markovna. 

A  blast  of  notes  from  trumpets  rolled  down 
the  avenue:  it  was  the  Prussian  military  band 
from  Rastadt  (in  1862  Rastadt  was  still  a  fed- 
erate fortress)  beginning  its  weekly  concert  in  the 
pavilion.     Kapitolina  Markovna  instantly  rose. 

"  Music!  " — she  said: — "  the  music  at  the  a  la 
Conversation!  ...  we  must  go  there.  It  must 
be  three  o'clock  now,  is  it  not?  Society  is  begin- 
ning to  assemble  now? " 

"  Yes,"— replied  Potugin;— "  this  is  the  most 
fashionable  hour  for  society,  and  the  music  is  very 
fine." 

"  Well,  then  we  must  not  delay.  Tanya,  let 
us  go." 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  accompany  you?  " — 
inquired  Potugin,  to  the  no  small  astonishment 
of  Litvinoff :  it  could  not  enter  his  head  that  Irina 
had  sent  Potugin. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  grinned. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  monsieur  .  .  . 
monsieur.  .  ." 

"  Potugin," — prompted  he,  and  offered  her  his 
arm. 

213 


SMOKE 

LitvinofF  gave  his  to  Tatyana,  and  both  couples 
directed  their  steps  toward  the  Konversations- 
haus. 

Potugin  continued  to  argue  with  Kapitolina 
Markovna.  But  LitvinofF  walked  along  without 
uttering  a  word,  and  merely  laughed  a  couple  of 
times,  without  any  cause  whatever,  and  lightly 
pressed  Tatyana's  arm.  There  was  falsehood  in 
those  pressures,  to  which  she  did  not  respond,  and 
LitvinofF  was  conscious  of  the  falsehood.  They 
did  not  express  mutual  confidence  in  the  close 
union  of  two  souls  which  had  given  themselves 
to  each  other,  as  before ;  they  were  now  taking  the 
place — for  the  time  being — of  the  words  which  he 
could  not  invent.  That  speechless  something, 
which  had  begun  between  the  two,  grew  and 
strengthened.  Again  Tatyana  gazed  attentively, 
almost  intently,  at  him. 

The  same  state  of  affairs  continued  in  front  of 
the  Konversationshaus,  at  the  little  table,  around 
which  all  four  seated  themselves,  with  this  sole 
difference  that  LitvinofF's  silence  appeared  more 
comprehensible  under  the  bustling  turmoil  of  the 
crowd,  and  the  thunder  and  crash  of  the  band. 
Kapitolina  Markovna  was  quite  beside  herself, 
as  the  saying  is;  Potugin  was  hardly  able  to 
humour  her,  and  satisfy  her  curiosity.  Luckily 
for  him,  the  gaunt  figure  of  Madame  Sukhan- 
tchikofF  and  her  ever-restless  eyes  suddenly  made 
their  appearance  in  the  throng.    Kapitolina  Mar- 

214.. 


SMOKE 

kovna  instantly  recognised  her,  called  her  up  to 
the  table,  made  her  sit  down — and  a  hurricane  of 
words  ensued. 

Potugin  turned  to  Tatyana  and  began  to  con- 
verse with  her  in  a  soft  and  quiet  voice,  with  a 
caressing  expression  on  his  slightly  inclined  coun- 
tenance; and  she,  to  her  own  surprise,  answered 
him  lightly  and  without  constraint;  she  found  it 
agreeable  to  chat  with  this  stranger,  whom  she 
did  not  know,  while  Litvinoff  continued,  as  be- 
fore, to  sit  motionless,  with  the  same  fixed  and 
malicious  smile  on  his  lips. 

The  hour  for  dinner  arrived  at  last.  The  band 
ceased  to  play,  the  crowd  began  to  thin  out.  Kap- 
itolina  Markovna  bade  a  sympathetic  farewell  to 
Madame  Sukhantchikoff.  She  had  conceived  an 
immense  respect  for  her,  although  she  told  her 
niece  afterward  that  she  was  an  extremely  spite- 
ful person;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  knew 
everything  about  everybody!  And  sewing- 
machines  ought,  really,  to  be  introduced  as  soon 
as  the  wedding  was  celebrated.  Potugin  bowed 
himself  off:  Litvinoff  took  his  ladies  home.  As 
they  entered  the  hotel,  a  note  was  handed  to  him : 
he  stepped  aside,  and  hastily  tore  off  the  envel- 
ope. On  a  small  scrap  of  vellum  paper  stood  the 
following  words,  scribbled  in  pencil:  "  Come  to 
me  this  evening,  for  a  moment,  at  seven  o'clock, 
I  beg  of  you.  Irina."  Litvinoff  thrust  the  paper 
into  his  pocket,  and  as  he  turned  round  he  smiled 

215 


SMOKE 

again  ....  at  whom?  why?  Tatyana  was  stand- 
ing with  her  back  to  him. 

The  dinner  took  place  at  the  general  table. 
Litvinoff  sat  between  Kapitolina  Markovna  and 
Tatyana,  and  having  grown  rather  strangely 
vivacious,  chatted,  narrated  anecdotes,  poured 
out  wine  for  himself  and  for  the  ladies.  He 
bore  himself  with  so  much  freedom  of  manner 
that  a  French  infantry  officer  from  Strassburg, 
with  a  goatee  and  moustache  a  la  Napoleon  III, 
who  sat  opposite,  found  it  possible  to  join  in  the 
conversation,  and  even  wound  up  with  a  toast 
a  la  sante  cles  belles  moscovites!  After  dinner 
Litvinoff  escorted  the  two  ladies  to  their  room, 
and  after  standing  for  a  short  time  by  the  win- 
dow, with  frowning  brows,  he  suddenly  an- 
nounced that  he  must  absent  himself  for  a  little 
while  on  business,  but  would  return,  without  fail, 
later  in  the  evening.  Tatyana  said  nothing, 
turned  pale,  and  dropped  her  eyes.  Kapitolina 
Markovna  had  a  habit  of  taking  a  nap  after 
dinner;  Tatyana  knew  that  Litvinoff  was  aware 
of  this  habit  of  her  aunt's :  she  had  expected  that 
he  would  take  advantage  of  it,  that  he  would  re- 
main, as  he  had  not  yet  been  alone  with  her,  had 
not  talked  frankly  with  her,  since  their  arrival. 
And  here  he  was  going  off !  How  was  she  to  un- 
derstand that?  And,  altogether,  his  whole  con- 
duct in  the  course  of  the  day  .... 

Litvinoff  made  haste  to  depart,  without  await- 

216 


SMOKE 

ing  any  objections;  Kapitolina  Markovna  lay 
down  on  the  divan  and,  after  sighing  and  draw- 
ing a  couple  of  deep  breaths,  fell  into  an  untrou- 
bled sleep;  but  Tatyana  went  away  to  a  corner 
and  seated  herself  in  an  arm-chair,  with  her  arms 
tightly  folded  on  her  breast. 


«i-.- 


Vi 


XIX 

Litvinoff  briskly  ascended  the  stairs  of  the 
Hotel  de  l'Europe.  .  .  A  young  girl  of  thirteen, 
with  a  cunning  little  Kalmyk  face,  who,  evi- 
dently, was  lying  in  wait  for  him,  stopped  him, 
saying  to  him  in  Russian,  '  This  way,  please ; 
Irina  Pavlovna  will  be  here  directly."  He 
glanced  at  her  with  surprise.  She  smiled,  re- 
peated, "  If  you  please,  if  you  please,"  and  led 
him  into  a  small  room  which  was  opposite  Irina's 
bedroom,  and  filled  with  travelling  coffers  and 
trunks,  then  immediately  vanished,  closing  the 
door  softly  behind  her.  Litvinoff  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  a  survey  when  the  same  door 
swiftly  opened  and  Irina  made  her  appearance, 
in  a  pink  ball-gown,  with  pearls  in  her  hair  and  on 
her  neck.  She  fairly  flung  herself  at  him,  seized 
him  by  both  hands,  and  remained  speechless  for 
several  moments ;  her  eyes  beamed  and  her  bosom 
heaved,  as  though  she  had  been  running  up  a  hill. 
"  I  could  not  receive  ....  you  there,"  — she 
began,  in  a  hurried  whisper;—"  we  are  going  im- 
mediately to  a  formal  dinner,  but  I  felt  that  it 
was  imperatively  necessary  that  I  should  see  you. 
.  .  .  That  was  your  betrothed,  of  course,  with 
whom  I  met  you  to-dav?  " 

218 


SMOKE 

1  Yes,  that  was  my  betrothed,"— said  Litvi- 
noff ,  laying  special  emphasis  on  the  word  "  was." 

'  Exactly,  and  so  I  wished  to  see  you  for  a 
moment,  in  order  to  tell  you  that  you  must  con- 
sider yourself  entirely  free,  that  all  that  which 
took  place  yesterday  ought  not,  in  the  least,  to 
alter  your  decision.  ..." 

"  Irina!  "—exclaimed  Litvfnoff: — "why  dost 
thou  say  this? " 

He  spoke  the  words  in  a  loud  voice. . .  .  Bound- 
less passion  rang  out  in  them.  For  a  moment 
Irina  involuntarily  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  one!  "—she  went  on,  in  a  still 
softer  whisper,  but  with  uncontrollable  impulsive- 
ness:—  "thou  dost  not  know  how  I  love  thee,  but 
yesterday  I  only  paid  my  debt,  I  expiated  a 
fault  of  the  past.  .  .  Akh !  I  could  not  give  thee 
my  youth,  as  I  would  have  liked  to  do,  but  I  im- 
posed no  obligations  upon  thee,  I  did  not  release 
thee  from  any  promise,  my  darling!  Do  as  thou 
wilt:  thou  art  free  as  air;  thou  art  in  no  wise 
bound ;  understand  that !     Understand  it !  " 

"  But  I  cannot  live  without  thee,  Irina,"— Lit- 
vinoff  interrupted  her,  now  in  a  whisper. — "  I  am 

thine  forever  and  forever,  since  yesterday 

Only  at  thy  feet  can  I  breathe.  .  .  ." 

He  tremblingly  pressed  himself  against  her 
arms.     Irina  gazed  at  his  bowed  head. 

"  Well,  then,  thou  must  know," — she  said, — 
"  that  I  am  ready  for  anything,  that  I  will  regret 

219 


SMOKE 

nobody  and  nothing.     As  thou  dost  decide,  so 

shall  it  be.     I  also  am  thine  forever 

thine." 

Some  one  knocked  cautiously  at  the  door. 
Irina  bent  over,  whispered  once  more,  '  Thine. 
.  .  .  .  Farewell!"  Litvinoff  felt  her  breath  on 
his  hair,  and  the  touch  of  her  lips.  When  he 
straightened  himself  up  she  was  no  longer  in  the 
room,  only  her  gown  was  to  be  heard  rustling  in 
the  corridor,  and  Ratmiroff's  voice  was  audible 
in   the   distance,    "Eh    bien?      Vous   ne   venez 

Litvinoff  sat  down  on  a  tall  trunk  and  covered 
his  face.  A  feminine  odour,  delicate  and  fresh, 
was  wafted  over  him.  Irina  had  held  his  hands 
in  her  hands.  "  This  is  too  much  ....  too 
much,"  he  said  to  himself.  The  young  girl  en- 
tered the  room,  and  smiling  again  in  response  to 
his  troubled  glance,  she  said: 

"  Please  go,  sir,  while " 

He  rose  and  left  the  hotel.  An  immediate  re- 
turn home  was  not  to  be  thought  of:  he  must  re- 
cover his  senses.  His  heart  was  beating  slowly 
and  unevenly;  the  earth  seemed  to  be  moving 
faintly  under  his  feet.  Litvinoff  again  directed 
his  steps  to  Lichtenthal  Avenue.  Pie  compre- 
hended that  the  decisive  moment  had  arrived, 
that  it  had  become  impossible  to  delay  any  longer, 
to  dissimulate,  to  turn  aside,  that  an  explanation 
with  Tatyana  was  inevitable ;  he  pictured  to  him- 

220 


SMOKE 

self  how  she  was  sitting  there  without  moving 
and  waiting  for  him  ...  he  foresaw  what  he 
would  say  to  her ;  but  how  was  he  to  set  about  it, 
how  was  he  to  begin?  He  had  renounced  all  his 
regular,  well-arranged,  orderly  future:  he  knew 
that  he  meant  to  fling  himself  headlong  into  the 
whirlpool,  into  which  it  was  not  proper  to  glance ; 
.  .  .  but  this  did  not  disturb  him.  That  affair 
was  ended,  and  how  was  he  to  present  himself 
before  his  judge?  And  even  if  his  judge  were  to 
meet  him,  as  it  were  an  angel  with  a  flaming 
sword :  it  would  be  easier  for  his  guilty  heart.  .  .  . 
but  otherwise,  he  himself  would  be  obliged  to 
drive  the  dagger  home.  .  .  .  Horrible !  But  turn 
back,  renounce  that  other,  take  advantage  of  the 
liberty  which  was  promised  him,  which  was  recog- 
nised as  his  right  .  .  .  No !  It  would  be  better  to 
die!  Xo,  he  would  none  of  that  shameful  lib- 
erty; .  .  .  but  he  would  abase  himself  in  the 
dust,  and  in  order  that  those  eyes  might  incline 
with  love  .... 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch !  " — said  a  mournful 
voice,  and  a  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  Litvfnoff. 

He  glanced  round,  not  without  alarm,  and  be- 
held Potugin. 

"  Excuse  me,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— began 
the  latter,  with  his  customary  grimace;— "  per- 
haps I  startled  you,  but,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
you  from  afar,  I  thought  .  .  .  However,  if  you 
do  not  feel  like  talking  to  me  .  .  .  ." 

221 


SMOKE 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  glad,"— muttered 
Litvinoff  through  his  teeth. 

Potugin  walked  along  by  his  side. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  evening," — he  began:—"  so 
warm!    Have  you  been  walking  long? ' 

"  No,  not  long." 

"  But  why  do  I  ask?  I  saw  you  come  out  of  the 
Hotel  de  l'Europe." 

"  So  you  have  been  following  me? ' 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me? " 

"  Yes,  " — repeated  Potugin  in  a  barely  audible 
voice. 

Litvinoff  halted  and  gazed  at  his  unbidden 
companion.  His  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  were 
roving;  ancient,  long-past  grief  seemed  to  start 
forth  upon  his  distorted  features. 

"  What,  precisely,  is  it  that  you  wish  to  say  to 
me?"— said  Litvinoff  slowly,  and  again  moved 
onward. 

"  Permit  me  ...  I  will  tell  you  at  once.  If 
it  is  all  the  same  to  you, — let  us  sit  down  on  this 
bench  here.     It  will  be  more  convenient." 

"  But  it  is  something  private,"— said  Litvinoff, 
as  he  sat  down  beside  him.  "  You  do  not  seem 
like  yourself,  Sozont  Ivanitch." 

"  Yes,  I  'm  all  right;  and  there  is  nothing  pri- 
vate about  it.  In  fact,  I  wished  to  inform  you  . .  . 
of  the  impression  which  your  betrothed  has  pro- 
duced on  me  .  .  .  for  she  is  your  betrothed  bride, 


SMOKE 

I  believe?  .  .  .  Well,  in  a  word,  that  young  girl 
to  whom  you  introduced  me  to-day:  I  must  say 
that  never,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  have 
I  met  so  sympathetic  a  person.  She— has  a  heart 
of  gold,  a  truly  angelic  soul." 

Potugin  uttered  all  these  words  with  the  same 
bitter  and  afflicted  aspect,  so  that  even  Litvinoff 
could  not  fail  to  observe  the  contradiction  between 
the  expression  of  his  face  and  his  remarks. 

"  You  have  judged  Tatyana  Petrovna  with  en- 
tire justice,"— began  Litvinoff;— "  although  I 
am  bound  to  feel  astonished,  in  the  first  place, 
that  you  are  acquainted  with  my  relations  to  her, 
and,  in  the  second  place,  that  you  have  so  speedily 
divined  her.  She  really  has  an  angelic  soul;  but 
allow  me  to  inquire  if  that  is  what  you  wished  to 
talk  to  me  about? " 

"  She  cannot  be  divined  at  once,"— responded 
Potugin,  as  though  avoiding  the  last  question: — 
'  one  must  look  into  her  eyes.  She  deserves  every 
possible  happiness  on  earth,  and  enviable  is  the 
lot  of  that  man  whose  fate  it  shall  be  to  procure 
her  that  happiness!  We  must  wish  that  he  will 
prove  worthy  of  such  a  fate." 

Litvinoff  frowned  slightly. 

"  Excuse  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch," — he  said: — "  I 
must  confess  that  I  find  your  conversation  de- 
cidedly original.  ...  I  should  like  to  know :  does 
the  hint  which  your  words  contain  refer  to 
me?" 

223 


SMOKE 

Potugin  did  not  immediately  reply  to  Litvi- 
noff;  evidently,  he  was  struggling  with  himself. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch," — he  began  at  last, 
— "  either  I  am  entirely  mistaken  in  you,  or  you 
are  in  a  condition  to  hear  the  truth,  from  whom- 
soever it  may  come,  and  under  whatsoever  un- 
sightly cover  it  may  present  itself.  I  just  told 
you  that  I  had  seen  whence  you  came." 

'  Well,  yes— from  the  Hotel  de  l'Europe. 
And  what  of  that?" 

"  Of  course  I  know  whom  you  saw  there! ' 

"What?" 

"  You  saw  Madame  RatmirofF." 

"  Well,  yes;  I  was  with  her.    What  more? ' 

"What  more?  .  .  .  You  are  the  affianced  hus- 
band of  Tatyana  Petrovna ;  you  have  had  a  meet- 
ing with  Madame  RatmirofF,  whom  you  love 
....  and  who  loves  you." 

Litvinoff  instantly  rose  from  the  bench;  the 
blood  flew  to  his  head. 

"  What 's  that?  "—he  said  at  last,  in  a  wrath- 
ful, choking  voice:  —  "is  this  an  insipid  jest,  or 
spying?    Be  so  good  as  to  explain  yourself." 

Potugin  cast  a  dejected  glance  at  him. 

"  Akh !  Do  not  take  offence  at  my  words,  Gri- 
gory Mikhailitch;  you  cannot  insult  me.  It 
was  not  for  that  that  I  began  this  conversation 
with  you,  and  I  am  in  no  mood  for  jesting  now." 

"  Possibly,  possibly.  I  am  ready  to  believe  in 
the  purity  of  your  intentions;  but,  nevertheless, 

224 


SMOKE 

I  shall  permit  myself  to  ask  you,  by  what  right 
do  you  meddle  with  my  private  affairs,  with  the 
heart-life  of  a  stranger,  and  on  what  grounds  do 
you  set  forth  your  ....  fiction,  with  so  much 
self-confidence,  for  the  truth?  " 

'  My  fiction!  If  I  had  invented  that  you 
would  not  have  got  angry!  and  as  for  my  right, 
I  have  never  yet  heard  of  a  man  putting  to  him- 
self the  question:  whether  he  had  the  right  to 
stretch  forth  a  hand  to  a  drowning  person." 

'  I  thank  you  humbly  for  your  solicitude,"  re- 
torted Litvinoff  angrily,  —  "only  I  do  not  stand 
in  the  slightest  need  of  it,  and  all  these  phrases 
about  perdition  prepared  by  fashionable  ladies 
for  inexperienced  youths,  about  the  immorality 
of  the  highest  society  and  so  forth,  I  regard  as 
merely  phrases,  and  even,  in  a  certain  sense,  I 
despise  them;  and  therefore,  I  must  request  you 
not  to  inconvenience  your  saving  right  hand,  and 
allow  me  to  drown  in  all  quietness." 

Again  Potugin  raised  his  eyes  to  Litvinoff. 
He  was  breathing  heavily,  his  lips  were  twitching. 

"  Well,  look  at  me,  young  man," — he  burst  out 
at  last,  and  he  smote  himself  on  the  breast: — "  do 
I  look  like  an  ordinary,  self-complacent  moralist, 
a  preacher?  Cannot  you  understand  that,  out  of 
mere  sympathy  for  you,  no  matter  how  strong 
that  might  be,  I  would  never  have  uttered  a  word, 
would  not  have  given  you  the  right  to  reproach 
me  for  that  which  I  hate  more  than  anything  else 

225 


SMOKE 

—for  indiscretion,  for  intrusiveness  ?  Do  not  you 
see  that  the  matter  here  is  of  a  totally  different 
nature— that  before  you  is  a  man  who  has  been 
crushed,  ruined,  definitively  annihilated  by  the 
very  same  feeling,  from  the  consequences  of 
which  he  would  like  to  save  you,  and  ....  for 
the  very  same  woman!  " 

Litvinoff  retreated  a  pace. 

"  Is  it  possible!  what  have  you  said.  .  .  .  You 
.  .  .  you  .  .  .  Sozont  Ivanitch?  But  Madame 
Byelsky  .  .  .  that  child  .  .  .  ." 

"  Akh,  do  not  question  me  .  .  .  trust  me! 
That  dark,  terrible  story  I  will  not  tell  you.  I 
hardly  knew  Madame  Byelsky;  the  child  is  not 
mine,  but  I  took  entire  charge  of  her  ....  be- 
cause ....  because  she  wished  it,  because  it  was 
necessary  for  her.  Why  should  I  be  here,  in 
your  repulsive  Baden?  And,  in  conclusion,  do 
you  suppose,  could  you,  for  one  moment,  have 
imagined  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  warn 
you  out  of  sympathy?  I  am  sorry  for  that  kind, 
good  young  girl,  your  betrothed;  but,  however, 
what  business  have  I  with  your  future,  with  both 
of  you?  .  .  .  But  I  fear  for  her  .  .  .  for  her." 
You  do  me  much  honour,  Mr.  Potugin," — 
began  Litvinoff, — "  but  since,  according  to  your 
words,  we  are  both  in  the  same  situation,  why  do 
not  you  read  the  same  sort  of  exhortations  to 
yourself.  And  ought  not  I  to  attribute  your 
fears  to  another  sentiment? " 

226 


SMOKE 

1  That  is,  to  jealousy,  you  mean  to  say?  Ekh, 
young  man,  young  man,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
to  shuffle  and  shift ;  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  not 
to  understand  what  bitter  woe  now  speaks 
through  my  mouth !  No,  you  and  I  are  not  in  the 
same  situation!  I,  I — am  an  old,  ridiculous,  ut- 
terly harmless  eccentric  fellow  .  .  .  but  you! 
But  what  is  the  use  of  talking?  Not  for  one  sec- 
ond would  you  consent  to  take  upon  yourself  the 
role  which  I  am  playing,  and  playing  with  grati- 
tude! And  jealousy?  The  man  who  has  not  a 
single  drop  of  hope  is  not  jealous,  and  this  would 
not  be  the  first  time  that  I  have  had  occasion  to 
experience  that  emotion.  I  am  only  terrified  .  .  . 
terrified  for  her,  understand  that.  And  could  I 
foresee,  when  she  sent  me  to  you,  that  the  feeling 
of  guilt,  which  she  admitted  to  be  hers,  would 
lead  her  so  far?  " 

"  But  permit  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  you  seem  to 
know  .  .  ." 

"  I  know  nothing,  and  I  know  everything.  I 
know,"— he  added,  and  turned  his  head  away.— 
"  I  know  where  she  was  last  night.  But  she  is  not 
to  be  restrained  now:  like  a  stone  that  has  been 
hurled,  she  must  roll  to  the  bottom.  I  should  be 
a  still  greater  fool  if  I  were  to  imagine  that  my 
words  would  immediately  arrest  you  .  .  .  you,  to 
whom  such  a  woman  ....  But  enough  on  that 
score.  I  could  not  restrain  myself,  that  is  my  sole 
excuse.     Yes,  and,  in  conclusion,  how  was  I  to 

227 


SMOKE 

know,  and  why  should  I  not  make  the  attempt? 
Perhaps  you  will  think  better  of  it,  perhaps  some 
word  of  mine  will  fall  into  your  soul.  You  will 
not  wish  to  ruin  her  and  yourself,  and  that  inno- 
cent, lovely  creature.  .  .  Akh,  be  not  angry,  do 
not  stamp  your  foot!  Why  should  I  be  afraid— 
why  should  I  stand  on  ceremony?  It  is  not  jeal- 
ousy which  is  speaking  in  me  now,  nor  irritation. 
.  .  I  am  ready  to  fall  at  your  feet,  to  entreat 
you.  .  .  But  farewell.  Have  no  fear:  all  this 
wall  remain  a  secret.    I  have  wished  your  good." 

Potugin  strode  along  the  avenue,  and  soon  dis- 
appeared in  the  already  descending  gloom.  .  .  . 
LitvfnofF  did  not  detain  him. 

"  A  terrible,  dark  story," — Potugin  had  said  to 
LitvfnofF,  and  had  not  been  willing  to  narrate  it. 
....  And  we  will  touch  upon  it  in  a  couple  of 
words  only. 

Eight  years  previous  to  this  time  he  had  hap- 
pened to  be  temporarily  ordered  by  his  Ministry 
to  Count  Reisenbach.  The  affair  took  place  in 
the  summer.  Potugin  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
driving  out  to  his  villa  with  documents,  and  spent 
whole  days  in  this  manner.  Irina  was  then  living 
with  the  Count.  She  never  disdained  persons  of 
inferior  positions,  at  all  events,  she  never  shunned 
them,  and  the  Countess  had  repeatedly  scolded 
her  for  her  superfluous  Moscow  familiarity.  Irina 
speedily  divined  the  clever  man  in  this  humble 
official,  clothed  in  uniform,  in  a  coat  buttoned  to 

228 


SMOKE 

the  throat.  She  chatted  with  him  frequently  and 
gladly  .  .  .  and  he  .  .  .  he  fell  in  love  with  her, 
passionately,  profoundly,  secretly.  .  .  Secretly! 
He  thought  so. 

The  summer  passed.  The  Count  ceased  to  re- 
quire an  outside  assistant.  Potugin  lost  sight  of 
Irina,  but  could  not  forget  her.  Three  years  later 
he  quite  unexpectedly  received  an  invitation 
from  one  of  his  acquaintances,  a  lady  of  me- 
diocre standing.  This  lady  was  somewhat  em- 
barrassed, at  first,  to  express  her  meaning,  but 
after  having  extracted  from  him  an  oath  that  he 
would  maintain  the  greatest  secrecy  in  regard  to 
everything  which  he  should  hear,  she  proposed  to 
him  .  .  .  that  he  should  marry  a  certain  young 
girl  who  occupied  a  prominent  position  in  so- 
ciety, and  for  whom  marriage  had  become  indis- 
pensable. The  lady  could  hardly  make  up  her 
mind  to  hint  at  the  principal  in  the  affair,  and 
then  and  there  offered  Potugin  money  ...  a 
great  deal  of  money.  Potugin  did  not  take  of- 
fence,— amazement  overwhelmed  his  feeling  of 
wrath, — but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  gave  a 
downright  refusal.  Then  the  lady  handed  him  a 
note  addressed  to  him — from  Irina.  "  You  are  a 
noble,  kind  man,"  she  wrote, — "  and  I  know  that 
you  will  do  anything  for  me;  I  ask  this  sacrifice  of 
you.  You  will  save  a  being  who  is  dear  to  me. 
In  saving  her,  you  will  save  me  also.  .  .  Do  not 
ask  .  .  .  how.    I  could  not  have  brought  myself 

229 


SMOKE 

to  apply  to  any  one  with  such  a  request,  but  I  do 
stretch  out  my  hands  to  you,  and  say :  '  Do  this 
for  my  sake.'  "  Potugin  reflected,  and  said  that, 
in  fact,  he  was  ready  to  do  a  great  deal  for  Irina 
Pavlovna,  but  would  like  to  hear  her  wish  from 
her  own  lips.  The  meeting  took  place  that  same 
evening:  it  did  not  last  long,  and  no  one  knew 
about  it,  except  the  lady.  Irina  was  no  longer 
living  at  Count  Reisenbach's. 

"  Why  did  you  think  of  me,  in  particular?  " — 
Potugin  asked  her. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  enlarging  upon  his  fine 
qualities,  but  suddenly  paused.  .  . 

"  No,"— she  said, — "  I  must  tell  you  the  truth. 
I  knew — I  know  that  you  love  me:  this  is  why  I 
decided  upon  it.  .  .  .  And  thereupon  she  told 
him  everything. 

Eliza  Byelsky  was  an  orphan ;  her  relatives  did 
not  like  her,  and  were  counting  upon  her  inherit- 
ance .  .  .  ruin  stared  her  in  the  face.  By  sav- 
ing her,  Irina  really  was  rendering  a  service  to  the 
man  who  was  the  cause  of  it  all,  and  who  had  now 
come  to  stand  very  close  to  her,  Irina.  .  .  Potu- 
gin gazed  silently  and  long  at  Irina,  and  con- 
sented. She  fell  to  weeping,  and  all  in  tears, 
flung  herself  on  his  neck.  And  he  also  began  to 
weep  .  .  .  but  their  tears  were  different.  Every- 
thing was  already  prepared  for  a  secret  marriage, 
a  powerful  hand  had  swept  aside  all  obstacles.  .  . 
But  illness  ensued  .  .  .  and  a  daughter  was  born, 

230 


SMOKE 

and  the  mother— poisoned  herself.  What  was  to 
be  done  with  the  child  ?  Potiigin  took  it  under  his 
charge  from  the  same  hands,  from  the  hands  of 
Irina. 

A  terrible,  dark  story.  .  .  Let  us  pass  on, 
reader,  let  us  pass  on ! 

Over  an  hour  more  elapsed  before  Litvinoff 
made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  his  hotel.  He  was 
already  drawing  near  to  it,  when  he  suddenly 
heard  footsteps  behind  him.  Some  one  appeared 
to  be  persistently  following  him,  and  walking 
faster  when  he  accelerated  his  pace.  As  he  came 
under  a  street-lamp,  Litvinoff  glanced  round, 
and  recognised  General  Ratmiroff.  In  a  white 
necktie,  and  an  elegant  overcoat  thrown  open  on 
the  breast,  with  a  row  of  tiny  stars  and  crosses  on 
a  golden  chain,  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  evening 
coat,  the  general  was  returning  from  the  dinner 
alone.  His  glance,  directly  and  boldly  riveted 
upon  Litvinoff,  expressed  such  scorn  and  such 
hatred,  his  whole  figure  breathed  forth  such  an 
importunate  challenge,  that  Litvinoff  considered 
it  his  duty  to  advance  to  meet  him,  summoning 
his  courage  to  advance  to  meet  that  "  row."  But, 
on  coming  alongside  of  Litvinoff,  the  general's 
face  instantly  underwent  a  change:  again  his 
wonted  playful  elegance  made  its  appearance, 
and  his  hand,  in  its  pale  lilac  glove,  raised  his 
shining  hat  on  high.  Litvinoff  silently  took  off 
his,  and  each  went  his  way. 

231 


SMOKE 

"Assuredly,  he  has  noticed  something!" — 
thought  Litvinoff.  "If  only  ...  it  were  any 
other  person!  "  thought  the  general. 

Tatyana  was  playing  picquet  with  her  aunt, 
when  Litvinoff  entered  their  room. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  nice  one,  my  dear  fellow!  " — 
exclaimed  Kapitolina  Markovna,  and  flung  her 
cards  on  the  table: — "  on  the  very  first  day  you 
have  disappeared,  and  for  the  entire  evening! 
Here  we  have  been  waiting  and  waiting  for  you, 
scolding  and  scolding.  .  ." 

"  I  have  not  said  anything,  aunty," — remarked 
Tatyana. 

"  Well,  everybody  knows  what  a  submissive 
creature  you  are!  Shame  on  you,  my  dear  sir! 
And  a  betrothed  bridegroom,  to  boot ! ' 

Litvinoff  excused  himself,  after  a  fashion,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  table. 

"  Why  have  you  stopped  playing?  "—he  asked, 
after  a  brief  silence. 

"  That 's  just  the  point!  She  and  I  play  cards 
out  of  ennui  when  there  is  nothing  to  do  ...  . 
but  now  you  have  come." 

"If  you  would  like  to  listen  to  the  evening  con- 
cert,"—said  Litvinoff,—"  I  will  take  you  with 
great  pleasure." 

Kapitolina  Markovna  looked  at  her  niece. 

'  Let  us  go,  aunty,  I  am  ready," — said  the  lat- 
ter,—" but  would  it  not  be  better  to  remain  at 
home?" 

232 


SMOKE 

'  The  very  thing !  Let  us  drink  tea,  in  our  own 
Moscow  fashion,  with  a  samovar;  and  let 's  have 
a  good  talk.  We  have  n't  yet  had  a  thoroughly 
good  chat." 

Litvinoff  ordered  tea  to  be  brought,  but  they 
did  not  succeed  in  having  a  good  talk.  He  ex- 
perienced an  incessant  gnawing  of  conscience ;  no 
matter  what  he  said,  it  always  seemed  to  him  as 
though  he  were  lying,  and  that  Tatyana  divined 
it.  But,  in  the  meanwhile,  no  change  was  per- 
ceptible in  her ;  she  bore  herself  with  as  little  con- 
straint as  ever  ....  only,  her  glance  never  once 
rested  on  Litvinoff,  but  slipped  over  him  in  a  con- 
descending and  timid  sort  of  way — and  she  was 
paler  than  usual. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  asked  her  whether  she 
had  not  a  headache? 

At  first  Tatyana  was  on  the  point  of  answer- 
ing 'No,"  but  changed  her  mind,  and  said: 
"  Yes,  a  little." 

'  It  is  from  the  journey,"— said  Litvinoff,  and 
fairly  blushed  with  shame. 

'  It  is  from  the  journey," — repeated  Tatyana, 
and  again  her  glance  glided  over  him. 

"  You  must  rest,  Tanetchka." 

•  I  shall  go  to  bed  soon,  aunty." 

On  the  table  lay  the  "  Guide  des  Voyageurs  "; 
Litvinoff  began  to  read  aloud  the  description  of 
the  environs  of  Baden. 

'  All  that  is  so," — Kapitolina  Markovna  inter- 

233 


SMOKE 

rupted  him,—"  but  one  thing  we  must  not  forget. 
They  say  that  linen  is  very  cheap  here,  so  we 
might  buy  some  for  the  trousseau." 

Tatyana  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time,  aunty.  You  never 
think  of  yourself.  But  you  certainly  must  have  a 
new  gown  made.  You  see  how  finely  dressed 
every  one  is  here." 

"  Eh,  my  darling!  Why  should  I?  What  sort 
of  a  fashionable  figure-plate  should  I  make?  It 
would  be  all  right  if  I  were  as  beautiful  as  that 
acquaintance  of  yours,  Grigory  Mikhailitch— 
what  in  the  world  is  her  name?  " 

"  What  acquaintance? " 

"  Why,  the  one  we  met  to-day." 

"Ah,  that  one!"— said  Litvinoff,  with  simu- 
lated indifference,  and  again  he  felt  odious  and 
ashamed.  "No!"  he  said  to  himself,  "things 
cannot  go  on  in  this  way ! ' 

He  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  his  betrothed,  and 
a  few  inches  away  from  her,  in  his  pocket,  was 
Irina's  handkerchief. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  went  into  the  next  room 
for  a  moment. 

"  Tanya  .  .  .  ."—said  Litvinoff,  with  an  ef- 
fort. He  called  her  by  that  name  for  the  first 
time  that  day. 

She  turned  toward  him. 

"  I  .  .  .  .  have  something  important  to  say  to 

you." 

234 


SMOKE 

"Ah!     Really?     When?     Immediately?" 

"  No,  to-morrow." 

"Ah!    To-morrow.    Well,  very  good." 

Boundless  pity  immediately  filled  Litvinoff's 
soul.  He  took  Tatyana's  hand  and  kissed  it  sub- 
missively, like  a  guilty  man ;  her  heart  contracted 
silently,  and  that  kiss  did  not  make  her  rejoice. 

That  night,  at  two  o'clock,  Kapitolina  Mar- 
kovna,  who  slept  in  the  same  room  with  her  niece, 
suddenly  raised  her  head  and  listened. 

"Tanya!"— she  said:— "are  you  crying?" 

Tatyana  did  not  immediately  reply. 

"  No,  aunty,"— her  gentle  little  voice  made  it- 
self heard;—"  I  have  a  cold  in  the  head." 


235 


XX 

"Why  did  I  say  that?"  thought  Litvinoff,  on 
the  following  morning,  as  he  sat  in  front  of  the 
window  in  his  own  room.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders with  vexation:  he  had  said  it  to  Tatyana 
precisely  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  off  all  retreat 
from  himself.  On  the  window-sill  lay  a  note 
from  Irina:  she  summoned  him  to  her  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Potugin's  words  incessantly  recurred  to 
his  memory;  then  they  rushed  past  with  an  omi- 
nous, though  feeble,  rather  subterranean  roar;  he 
waxed  angry,  and  could  not,  in  any  way,  rid  him- 
self of  them.     Some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Wer  da?  "—inquired  Litvinoff. 

"  Ah!    You  are  at  home!    Open!  "—rang  out 
Bindasoff's  hoarse  bass  voice. 

The  handle  of  the  door  rattled. 

Litvinoff  turned  pale  with  wrath. 

"  I  am  not  at  home,"— he  said  sharply. 

"  Why  are  n't  you  at  home?    What  sort  of  a 
jest  is  this?  " 

"  I  tell  you— I  am  not  at  home;  take  yourself 
off." 

"  That 's  amiable  of  you!    And  I  came  to  bor- 
row money," — growled  Bindasoff. 

236 


SMOKE 

But  he  withdrew,  clacking  his  heels,  as  usual. 

Litvinoff  almost  rushed  out  after  him,  so  great 
was  his  desire  to  break  the  neck  of  that  disgust- 
ing, insolent  fellow.  The  events  of  the  last  few 
days  had  deranged  his  nerves:  a  little  more,  and 
he  would  have  wept.  He  drank  a  glass  of  cold 
water,  locked  all  the  drawers  in  the  furniture, 
without  knowing  why  he  did  so,  and  went  to  Ta- 
tyana. 

He  found  her  alone — Kapitolina  Markovna 
had  betaken  herself  to  the  shops  to  make  pur- 
chases. Tatyana  was  sitting  on  the  divan,  and 
holding  a  book  with  both  hands ;  she  was  not  read- 
ing it,  and  even  hardly  knew  what  book  it  was. 
She  did  not  stir,  but  her  heart  was  beating  vio- 
lently in  her  breast,  and  the  white  collar  round  her 
neck  quivered  perceptibly  and  regularly. 

Litvinoff  was  disconcerted  .  .  .  but  he  sat  down 
beside  her,  bade  her  good  morning,  and  smiled; 
and  she  smiled  silently  at  him.  She  had  bowed  to 
him  when  he  entered,  bowed  politely,  not  in  a 
friendly  manner — and  had  not  looked  at  him.  He 
offered  her  his  hand;  she  gave  him  her  cold  fin- 
gers, immediately  disentangled  them,  and  re- 
turned to  her  book.  Litvinoff  felt  that  to  begin 
the  conversation  with  trivial  subjects  would  be 
equivalent  to  offering  Tatyana  an  affront;  ac- 
cording to  her  wont,  she  demanded  nothing,  but 
everything  in  her  said:  "  I  am  waiting,  I  am  wait- 
ing. .  ."     He  must  fulfil  his  promise.     But,  al- 

237 


SMOKE 

though  he  had  thought  of  nothing  else  almost  all 
night,  he  had  not  prepared  even  the  first  intro- 
ductory words,  and  positively  did  not  know  how 
to  break  that  cruel  silence. 

"  Tanya," — he  began  at  last, — "  I  told  you  yes- 
terday that  I  have  something  important  to  com- 
municate to  you"  (in  Dresden,  when  he  was 
alone  with  her,  he  had  begun  to  address  her  as 
"  thou,"  but  now  such  a  thing  was  not  to  be 
thought  of ) .  "I  am  ready,  only,  I  beg  you  in 
advance,  not  to  blame  me,  and  to  feel  assured  that 
my  feelings  for  you  .  .  .  ." 

He  halted.  He  had  lost  his  breath.  Still  Ta- 
tyana  never  moved,  nor  did  she  glance  at  him :  she 
merely  grasped  her  book  more  firmly  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Between  us," — went  on  Litvinoff,  without 
completing  the  speech  he  had  begun, — "  between 
us  there  has  always  been  perfect  frankness ;  I  re- 
spect you  too  much  to  resort  to  double  dealing 
with  you ;  I  want  to  prove  to  you  that  I  prize  the 
loftiness  and  freedom  of  your  soul,  and  although 
I  .  .  although,  of  course  .  .  .  ." 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— began  Tatyana  in 
an  even  voice,  and  her  whole  face  became  over- 
spread with  a  death -like  pallor,—"  I  will  come  to 
your  assistance:  you  have  ceased  to  love  me,  and 
you  do  not  know  how  to  tell  me  that." 

Litvinoff  involuntarily  shuddered. 

"  Why?  "—he  said,  almost  inaudibly,— "  why 

238 


SMOKE 

should  you  think  that?  ...  I  really  do  not  un- 
derstand. .  ." 

"  Well,  is  it  not  the  truth?  Is  it  not  the  truth? 
tell  me!  tell  me!" 

Tatyana  turned  her  whole  body  toward  Litvi- 
noff ;  her  face,  with  its  hair  thrown  back,  ap- 
proached his  face,  and  her  eyes,  which  had  not 
looked  at  him  for  so  long,  fairly  devoured  his 
eyes. 

"Is  it  not  true?  "—she  repeated. 

He  said  nothing,  did  not  utter  a  single  sound. 
He  could  not  have  lied  at  that  moment,  even  if 
he  had  known  that  she  would  believe  him,  and  that 
his  lie  would  save  her ;  he  was  not  even  capable  of 
enduring  her  gaze.  Litvinoff  said  nothing,  but 
she  no  longer  needed  an  answer;  she  read  the  an- 
swer in  his  silence,  in  those  guilty,  downcast  eyes, 
—and  threw  herself  back,  and  dropped  her  book. 
.  .  .  She  had  still  doubted,  up  to  that  moment, 
and  Litvinoff  understood  this ;  he  understood  that 
she  still  doubted — and  how  repulsive,  actually  re- 
pulsive, was  everything  that  he  had  done! 

He  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"Tanya!"— he  exclaimed:— "if  I  had  known 
how  painful  it  would  be  to  me  to  behold  you  in 
this  situation,  how  frightful  it  would  be  to  me  to 
think  that  it  is  I  ....  I!  My  heart  is  lacerated ; 
I  do  not  know  myself;  I  have  lost  myself  and 
thee,  and  everything.  .  .  .  Everything  is  ruined, 
Tanya,  everything!    Could  I  have  foreseen  that  I 

239 


SMOKE 

.  .  I  would  deal  such  a  blow  to  thee,  my  best 
friend,  my  guardian  angel!  .  .  .  Could  I  have 
foreseen  that  thou  and  I  would  meet,  would  pass 
such  a  day  as  yesterday!  .  .  ." 

Tatyana  tried  to  rise  and  withdraw.  He  de- 
tained her  by  the  hem  of  her  gown. 

"  No ;  listen  to  me  for  another  minute.  Thou 
seest,  I  am  kneeling  before  thee.  But  I  have  not 
come  to  ask  forgiveness, — thou  canst  not  and 
must  not  forgive  me ;  I  have  come  to  tell  thee  that 
thy  friend  has  gone  to  destruction,  that  he  is  fall- 
ing into  the  abyss,  and  does  not  wish  to  drag  thee 
down  with  him.  .  .  .  But  save  me  ...  no!  even  thou 
canst  not  save  me.  I  myself  would  have  re- 
pulsed thee.  ...  I  have  perished,  Tanya,  I  have 
perished  irrevocably!  " 

Tatyana  looked  at  Litvinoff. 

"You  have  perished!  "—she  said,  as  though 
she  did  not  fully  understand  him. — "  You  have 
perished?  " 

"  Yes,  Tanya,  I  have  perished.  All  that  is 
past,  all  that  is  dear,  all  that  has  heretofore  con- 
stituted my  life, — has  perished  for  me;  every- 
thing is  ruined,  everything  is  torn  away,  and  I 
know  not  what  awaits  me  in  the  future.  Thou 
didst  tell  me  immediately  that  I  had  ceased  to 
love  thee.  .  .  No,  Tanya,  I  have  not  ceased  to 
love  thee,  but  another,  a  terrible,  irresistible 
feeling  has  descended  upon  me,  has  flooded  me. 
I  resisted  it  as  long  as  I  was  able.  .  .  . ' 

240 


SMOKE 

Tatyana  rose;  her  brows  were  contracted,  her 
pale  face  had  darkened.    Litvinoff  also  rose. 

:  You  have  fallen  in  love  with  another 
woman," — she  began, — "  and  I  divine  who  she  is. 
.  .  We  met  her  yesterday,  did  we  not?  Very  well! 
I  know  now  what  remains  for  me  to  do.  As  you 
yourself  say  that  this  feeling  is  unalterable  in 
you  .  .  ."  (Tatyana  paused  for  an  instant:  per- 
haps she  still  hoped  that  Litvinoff  would  not 
let  this  last  word  pass  without  a  reply,  but  he 
said  nothing)  '  all  there  is  left  for  me  to  do  is 
to  give  you  back  .  .  .  your  word."  Litvinoff 
bent  his  head,  as  though  submissively  accepting 
a  merited  blow. 

"  You  have  a  right  to  be  angry  with  me," — he 
said, — "  you  have  a  perfect  right  to  reproach 
me  with  pusillanimity  .  .  .  with  deceit." 

Again  Tatyana  looked  at  him. 

"  I  have  not  reproached  you,  Litvinoff;  I  do 
not  accuse  you.  I  agree  with  you:  the  very  bit- 
terest truth  is  better  than  what  went  on  yesterday. 
What  a  life  ours  would  have  been  under  present 
circumstances! " 

'  What  a  life  mine  will  be  under  present  cir- 
cumstances!' echoed  painfully  in  Litvinoff's 
soul. 

Tatyana  approached  the  door  of  the  bedroom. 

'  I  beg  that  you  will  leave  me  alone  for  a  time, 
Grigory  Mikhaflitch, — we  shall  meet  again,  we 
shall    talk   together   again.      All   this   has   been 

241 


SMOKE 

so  unexpected.  I  must  collect  my  forces  .... 
leave  me  .  .  .  spare  my  pride.  We  shall  see  each 
other  again." 

And  having  said  these  words,  Tatyana  hastily 
left  the  room  and  locked  the  door  after  her. 

Litvinoff  went  out  into  the  street  as  though 
confused,  stunned;  something  dark  and  heavy 
had  taken  root  in  the  very  depths  of  his  heart;  a 
man  who  has  cut  another  man's  throat  must  ex- 
perience a  similar  sensation,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
he  felt  relieved,  as  though  he  had  at  last  cast  off 
a  hateful  burden.  Tatyana's  magnanimity  an- 
nihilated him ;  he  was  vividly  conscious  of  all  that 
he  had  lost  .  .  .  and  what  then?  Vexation  was 
mingled  with  his  repentance;  he  longed  for 
Irina,  as  the  sole  refuge  left  him, — and  was 
angry  with  her.  For  some  time  past,  and  with 
every  succeeding  day,  Litvinoff's  feelings  had 
been  becoming  more  and  more  powerful  and 
complex;  this  complication  tortured,  irritated 
him;  he  felt  lost  in  this  chaos.  He  thirsted  for 
one  thing :  to  come  out,  at  last,  on  a  road,  on  any 
road  whatever,  if  only  he  might  no  longer  whirl 
around  in  this  unintelligible  twilight.  Positive 
people,  like  Litvinoff,  ought  not  to  get  car- 
ried away  by  passion ;  it  destroys  the  very  mean- 
ing of  their  lives.  .  .  But  nature  asks  no  questions 
about  logic,  our  human  logic;  she  has  her  own, 
which  we  do  not  understand  and  do  not  recognise 
until  it  rolls  over  us,  like  a  wheel. 

242 


SMOKE 

After  parting  from  Tatyana,  Litvinoff  held 
one  thought  firmly  in  his  mind :  to  see  Irina ;  and 
he  set  out  for  her  abode.  But  the  general  was 
at  home,— at  least,  so  the  porter  told  him,— and 
he  did  not  care  to  enter;  he  did  not  feel  himself 
in  a  condition  to  dissimulate,  and  strolled  off  to 
the  Konversationshaus.  Litvinoff's  incapacity 
for  dissimulation  was  experienced  that  day  by 
Voroshiloff  and  Pishtchalkin,  who  chanced  to 
encounter  him:  he  fairly  told  one  of  them  point- 
blank  that  he  was  as  empty  as  a  tambourine;  the 
other,  that  he  was  tiresome  enough  to  make  a  man 
swoon;  it  was  a  good  thing  that  Bindasoff  did 
not  turn  up:  a  'grosser  Scandal"  certainly 
would  have  ensued.  Both  young  men  were 
amazed;  Voroshiloff  even  asked  himself  whether 
his  honour  as  an  officer  did  not  demand  repara- 
tion?— but,  like  Gogol's  lieutenant  Pirogoff,  he 
soothed  himself  in  the  cafe  with  bread  and  butter. 
Litvinoff  caught  a  distant  glimpse  of  Kapitolina 
Markovna,  busily  running  from  shop  to  shop  in 
her  motley  mantle.  .  .  He  felt  ashamed  before 
the  kind,  ridiculous,  noble  old  woman.  Then  he 
recalled  Potugin  and  their  conversation  of  the 
preceding  day.  .  .  .  But  now  some  influence  was 
breathing  upon  him,  something  impalpable  and 
indubitable;  had  the  exhalation  emanated  from 
a  falling  shadow,  it  could  not  have  been  more 
intangible.  But  he  immediately  felt  that  Irina 
was  approaching.    And  in  fact,  she  appeared  at 

243 


SMOKE 

a  distance  of  a  few  paces,  arm  in  arm  with  another 
lady ;  their  eyes  instantly  met.  Irina,  in  all  proba- 
bility, noticed  something  unusual  in  the  expres- 
sion of  Litvinoff's  face;  she  halted  in  front  of  a 
shop,  in  which  a  mass  of  tiny  wooden  clocks  of 
Schwarzwald  manufacture  were  on  sale,  sum- 
moned him  to  her  by  a  movement  of  her  head, 
and  pointing  out  one  of  these  clocks  to  him,  and 
requesting  him  to  admire  the  pretty  dial-plate, 
with  a  painted  cuckoo  at  the  top,  she  said,  not  in  a 
whisper,  but  in  her  ordinary  voice,  as  though  com- 
pleting a  phrase  which  had  been  begun— which  at- 
tracts less  attention  from  strangers: 

"  Come  an  hour  hence,  I  shall  be  at  home  and 
alone." 

But  at  this  point,  that  squire  of  dames,  Mon- 
sieur Verdier,  fluttered  up  to  her,  and  began  to 
go  into  ecstasies  over  the  feuille  morte  tint  of  her 
gown,  over  her  low-crowned  Spanish  hat,  which 
was  pulled  down  to  her  very  eyebrows.  .  .  Litvi- 
nofF  vanished  in  the  crowd. 


244 


XXI 

'  Grigory,"— said  Irina  to  him,  two  hours 
later,  as  she  sat  beside  him  on  the  couch  and  laid 
both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. — "  What  is  the 
matter  with  thee?  Tell  me  now,  quickly,  while 
we  are  alone." 

'  With  me?  "—said  Litvinoff.— "  I  am  happy, 
happy,  that  is  what  is  the  matter  with  me." 

Irina  dropped  her  eyes,  smiled,  sighed. 

'  That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question,  my 
dear  one.  " 

Litvinoff  reflected. 

"  Well,  then,  thou  must  know  .  .  .  since  thou 
imperatively  demandest  it '  ( Irina  opened  her 
eyes  very  widely,  and  drew  back  a  little) :  "  I 
have  to-day  told  my  betrothed  everything." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  everything?  Didst 
thou  mention  my  name?  " 

'  Irina,  for  God's  sake,  how  could  such  a 
thought  enter  thy  head!  that  I  .  .  .  ." 

I  iitvinoff  actually  clasped  his  hands. 

'  Well,  forgive  me  ....  forgive  me.  What 
didst  thou  say?  " 

"  I  told  her  that  I  no  longer  loved  her." 

"Did  she  ask  why?" 

245 


SMOKE 

' 1  did  not  conceal  from  her  the  fact  that  I 
loved  another,  and  that  we  must  part." 

"  Well  .  .  .  and  how  about  her?  Did  she  con- 
sent?" 

"  Akh,  Irina,  what  a  girl  she  is !  She  is  all  self- 
sacrifice,  all  nobility!" 

*  I  believe  it,  I  believe  it .  .  however,  there  was 
nothing  else  left  for  her  to  do." 

"  And  not  a  single  reproach,  not  a  single  bit- 
ter word  to  me,  to  the  man  who  has  spoiled  her 
whole  life,  who  has  deceived  her,  pitilessly 
abandoned  her.  .  ." 

Irina  inspected  her  finger-nails. 

"  Tell  me,  Grigory,  did  she  love  thee?  " 

"  Yes,  Irina,  she  did  love  me." 

Irina  said  nothing,  but  smoothed  her  gown. 

"  I  must  confess," — she  began, — "  that  I  do 
not  quite  understand  why  thou  hast  taken  it  into 
thy  head  to  have  an  explanation  with  her." 

'  How  is  it  that  thou  dost  not  understand  it, 
Irina!  Is  it  possible  that  thou  wouldst  have 
wished  to  have  me  lie,  dissimulate  before  her — be- 
fore that  pure  soul?    Or  didst  thou  assume  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  assumed  nothing,"  interrupted  Irina. — "  I 
must  admit  that  I  have  thought  very  little  about 
her.  .  .  I  cannot  think  of  two  persons  at  the  same 
time." 

"  That  is,  thou  intendest  to  say  .  .  ." 

"Well,  and  what  then?  Is  she  going  away, 
that  pure  soul?  "—interrupted  Irina  again. 

246 


SMOKE 

' 1  know  nothing  about  that," — replied  Litvi- 
noff. — "  I  must  see  her  again.  But  she  will  not 
remain." 

'All!   A  prosperous  journey  to  her!' 

V  No,  she  will  not  remain.  But  neither  am  I 
thinking  of  her  at  present.  I  am  thinking  of 
what  thou  hast  said  to  me,  of  what  thou  hast 
promised  me." 

Irfna  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him. 

"  Ungrateful !    Art  thou  still  not  satisfied  ?  " 

'  No,  Irina,  I  am  not  satisfied.  Thou  hast 
made  me  happy,  but  I  am  not  satisfied,  and  thou 
understandest  me." 

"  That  is  to  say,  I  .  .  ." 

f  ■  Yes,  thou  understandest  my  meaning. 
Recollect  thy  words,  remember  what  thou  hast 
written  to  me.  I  cannot  share  with  another;  I 
cannot  consent  to  the  pitiful  role  of  a  secret  lover ; 
I  have  cast  not  my  own  life  only,  but  another 
life  also,  at  thy  feet.  I  have  renounced  every- 
thing I  have,  I  have  ground  everything  to  dust, 
without  compassion  and  without  recall;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  believe,  I  am  firmly  convinced, 
that  thou  also  wilt  keep  thy  promise  and  wilt 
unite  thy  fate  forever  to  mine.  .  .  ." 

"  Thou  desirest  that  I  should  flee  with  thee? 
I  am  ready  .  .  ."  (LitvinofF  kissed  her  hands 
with  rapture)  '  I  am  ready;  I  do  not  take  back 
mjr  word.  But  hast  thou  considered  the  difficul- 
ties .  .  .  hast  thou  prepared  the  means? ' 

247 


SMOKE 

"I?  I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  consider,  or  to 
prepare,  but  say  this  one  thing,  '  yes  ' ;  grant  me 
the  permission  to  act,  and  before  a  month  shall 
have  elapsed  .  .  .  ." 

"A  month!  We  leave  for  Italy  in  a  fort- 
night." 

"A  fortnight  is  enough  for  me.  Oh,  Irina! 
thou  receivest  my  proposal  coldly,  to  all  appear- 
ances ;  perhaps  it  seems  to  thee  fanciful,  but  I  am 
not  a  boy,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  comfort  myself 
with  fancies;  I  know  that  it  is  a  terrible  step,  I 
know  what  a  responsibility  I  am  assuming,  but  I 
see  no  other  issue.  Reflect,  in  short,  that  I  am 
bound  to  break  off  all  connection  with  the  past, 
in  order  that  I  may  not  bear  the  reputation  of  a 
despicable  liar  in  the  eyes  of  that  young  girl 
whom  I  have  sacrificed  for  thy  sake." 

Irina  suddenly  drew  herself  up,  and  her  eyes 
flashed. 

"  Well,  you  must  excuse  me,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch !  If  I  make  up  my  mind  to  do  that,  if  I  flee, 
I  shall  flee  with  the  man  who  does  it  for  me,  pre- 
cisely for  me,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  not  lowering 
himself  in  the  opinion  of  a  phlegmatic  young  lady 
who  has  milk  and  water,  du  lait  coupe,  in  her 
veins,  in  place  of  blood.  And  I  will  tell  you 
something  else,  also:  I  must  say  that  this  is  the 
first  time  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  hear  that  the 
man  to  whom  I  have  shown  favour  is  deserving 
of  compassion,  is  playing  a  sorry  part!     I  know 

248 


SMOKE 

a  more  pitiful  role:  the  role  of  a  man  who  does 
not  know  what  is  going  on  in  his  own  soul! ' 

It  was  now  Litvinoff's  turn  to  draw  himself 
up. 

"  Irina," — he  began. 

But  she  suddenly  pressed  both  palms  to  her 
brow,  and  flinging  herself  on  his  breast,  with  a 
convulsive  impulse,  embraced  him  with  unfemi- 
nine  force. 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me," — she  said  in  a 
trembling  voice, — "  forgive  me,  Grigory!  Thou 
seest  how  spoiled  I  am,  how  hateful,  jealous, 
wicked  I  am!  Thou  seest  how  I  need  thy  help, 
thy  indulgence!  Yes,  save  me,  tear  me  out  of 
this  abyss  before  I  perish  utterly !  Yes,  let  us  flee, 
let  us  flee  from  these  people,  from  this  society, 
into  some  distant,  free,  beautiful  land!  Perhaps 
thy  Irina  will  become,  at  last,  more  worthy  of  the 
sacrifices  which  thou  art  making  for  her!  Be  not 
angry  with  me,  my  dearest, — and  understand 
that  I  will  do  everything  which  thou  commandest ; 
I  will  go  anywhere,  whithersoever  thou  leadest 
me!" 

Litvinoff's  heart  was  completely  upset.  Irina 
pressed  more  violently  than  ever  to  him  with  her 
supple  young  body.  He  bent  over  her  dishev- 
elled, perfumed  locks,  and  in  an  intoxication  of 
gratitude  and  rapture,  hardly  ventured  to  caress 
them  with  his  hand,  hardly  touched  them  with  his 
lips. 

249 


SMOKE 

"  Irina,  Irina," — he  kept  repeating, — "  my 
angel.  .  ." 

She  suddenly  raised  her  head,  listened.  .  . 
"  Those  are  my  husband's  footsteps  .  .  he  has 
gone  into  his  own  room," — she  whispered,  and 
hastily  moving  away,  she  seated  herself  in  an 
arm-chair.  Litvinoff  was  on  the  point  of  rising. 
.  .  "  Where  art  thou  going?  "  she  continued  in  the 
same  whisper: — "remain;  he  suspects  thee,  as 
it  is.  Or  art  thou  afraid  of  him?" — She  never 
took  her  eyes  from  the  door. — "  Yes,  it  is  he;  he 
will  come  hither  immediately.  Tell  me  some- 
thing, converse  with  me." — Litvinoff  could  not 
at  once  recover  himself,  and  remained  silent. — 
"  Are  not  you  going  to  the  theatre  to-morrow?  " 
—she  said  aloud. — "  They  are  playing  '  Le  Verre 
d'Eau,'  a  stale  old  piece,  and  Plessy  is  frightfully 
affected.  .  .  I  feel  as  though  I  were  in  a  fever," 
—she  added,  lowering  her  voice, — we  cannot 
go  on  like  this ;  we  must  think  it  over  carefully.  I 
must  warn  thee  that  he  has  all  my  money;  mats 
j'ai  mes  bijoux.  Let  us  go  to  Spain,  shall  we?  " 
— Again  she  raised  her  voice. — "  Why  is  it  that 
all  actresses  get  fat?  There  is  Madeleine  Brohan, 
for  example.  .  .  Do  say  something;  don't  sit 
there  dumb  like  that.  My  head  is  whirling.  But 
thou  must  have  no  doubts  of  me.  .  .  I  will  let 
thee  know  where  thou  must  come  to-morrow. 
Only,  it  was  unnecessary  for  thee  to  tell  that 
young  lady.  .  .  .  Ah!  mais  c'est  charmant! " — 

250 


SMOKE 

she  suddenly  exclaimed,  and  with  a  nervous  laugh 
she  tore  off  the  border  of  her  handkerchief. 

"  May  I  come  in?  "—inquired  Ratmiroff,  from 
the  adjoining  room. 

"  Yes  ....  yes." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  general  appeared  on 
the  threshold.  He  scowled  at  the  sight  of  Litvi- 
noff,  but  saluted  him,  that  is  to  say,  he  swayed  the 
upper  part  of  his  body. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  thou  hadst  a  visitor,"— 
he  said: — "  je  vous  demande  pardon  de  mon  in- 
discretion. And  does  Baden  still  amuse  you, 
Monsieur  ....  Litvinoff?  " 

Ratmiroff  always  pronounced  Litvinoff' s  sur- 
name with  hestitation,  as  though  he  had  for- 
gotten it  every  time,  and  could  not  immediately 
recall  it.  .  .  By  this  means,  and  by  raising  his  hat 
in  an  exaggerated  manner,  he  meant  to  sting  him. 

"  I  do  not  find  myself  bored  here,  Monsieur 
le  general." 

"  Really?  But  I  have  grown  horribly  tired  of 
Baden.  We  are  going  away  shortly,  are  we  not, 
Irina  Pavlovna?  Assez  de  Bade  comme  ca. 
Moreover,  luckily  for  you,  I  have  won  five  hun- 
dred francs  to-day." 

Irina  coquettishly  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Where  are  they?  Please  give  them  to  me. 
For  pin-money." 

"  I  have  them  ...  I  have  them.  .  .  .  But  are  you 
going  already,  M'sieu'  .  .  .  Litvinoff? ' 

251 


SMOKE 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  going,  as  you  see." 

Again  Ratmiroff  swayed  his  body. 

"Farewell  until  another  pleasant  meeting!' 

"  Good-bye,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"— said 
Irina.— "  And  I  shall  keep  my  promise." 

"  What  promise?  if  I  may  be  so  curious  as  to 
inquire?  " — asked  her  husband. 

Irina  smiled. 

"  No— that  is  ...  a  matter  between  ourselves. 
C'est  apropos  du  voyage  .  .  .  oil  il  vous  plaira. 
Art  thou  acquainted  with  StaeTs  works? ' 

"  Ah!  of  course,  of  course  I  am.  Very  pretty 
pictures.  .  ." 

Ratmiroff  appeared  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
his  wife:  he  addressed  her  as  "  thou." 


252 


XXII 

'Tis  better  not  to  think  about  it,"  Litvinoff  kept 
repeating  to  himself,  as  he  strode  along  the  street, 
and  became  conscious  that  the  turmoil  within  him 
was  rising  once  more.  "  The  matter  is  settled. 
She  will  keep  her  promise,  and  all  I  have  to  do 
is  to  take  all  the  necessary  measures.  .  .  But  she 
seems  to  doubt."  .  .  .  He  shook  his  head.  His 
own  intentions  presented  themselves  to  him  in  an 
odd  light;  there  was  a  touch  of  strangeness  and 
improbability  about  them.  It  is  not  possible  to 
dwell  long  upon  one  and  the  same  set  of  thoughts ; 
they  gradually  shift  their  places,  like  bits  of  glass 
in  a  kaleidoscope  ....  and  the  first  one  knows, 
the  figures  before  his  eyes  are  totally  different. 
A  sensation  of  profound  weariness  overpowered 
Litvinoff.  .  .  He  longed  to  rest  for  an  hour.  .  . 
But  Tanya?  He  gave  a  start,  and  without  re- 
flecting further,  submissively  wended  his  way 
home,  and  the  only  thing  which  occurred  to  him 
was  that  to-day  he  was  being  tossed  from  one 
woman  to  another,  like  a  ball.  .  .  It  mattered 
not :  he  had  been  compelled  to  make  an  end  of  it. 
He  entered  the  hotel,  and  in  the  same  submissive 
manner,  without  hesitation  or  delay,  he  betook 
himself  to  Tatyana. 

253 


SMOKE 

He  was  met  by  Kapitolina  Markovna.  With 
his  first  glance  at  her,  he  recognised  the  fact  that 
she  knew  everything:  the  poor  spinster's  eyes 
were  swollen  with  tears,  and  her  reddened  face, 
framed  in  rumpled  white  hair,  expressed  alarm 
and  the  pain  of  indignation,  of  burning  and 
boundless  amazement.  She  darted  toward 
Litvinoff,  but  instantly  paused,  and  biting  her 
quivering  lips,  she  gazed  at  him,  as  though  she 
wished  to  entreat  him,  and  slay  him,  and  convince 
herself  that  all  this  was  a  dream,  madness,  an  im- 
possible affair,  was  it  not? 

"  Here,  you  .  .  you  have  come,  you  have  come," 
she  began.  .  .  The  door  leading  into  the  adjoining 
room  instantly  flew  open — and  Tatyana,  pale  to 
transparency,  entered  with  a  light  step. 

She  softly  embraced  her  aunt  with  one  arm, 
and  made  her  sit  down  by  her  side. 

"  Do  you  sit  down  also  Grigory  Mikhailitch," 
—she  said  to  Litvinoff,  who  was  standing,  as 
though  bewildered,  near  the  door.  —  "  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you  again.  I  have  communicated 
your  decision,  our  mutual  decision,  to  aunty;  she 
shares  it  entirely,  and  approves  of  it.  .  .  With- 
out mutual  love  there  can  be  no  happiness; 
mutual  respect  alone  is  not  sufficient '  (at  the 
word  "  respect "  Litvinoff  involuntarily  cast 
down  his  eyes),  "  and  it  is  better  to  part  before- 
hand, than  to  repent  afterward.  Is  n't  that  true, 
aunty? " 

254 


SMOKE 

;  Yes,  of  course,"— began  Kapitolina  Mar- 
kovna,— "  of  course,  Taniusha,  the  man  who  does 
not  know  how  to  value  you  .  .  .  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  .  .  ." 

"  Aunty,  aunty,"— Tatyana  interrupted  her, 
— "  remember  what  you  promised  me.  You 
yourself  have  always  said  to  me :  '  the  truth,  the 
truth  before  everything,  and — liberty.'  Well, 
and  truth  is  not  always  sweet,  neither  is  liberty; 
otherwise,  wherein  would  our  merit  lie? ' 

She  kissed  Kapitolina  Markovna  tenderly  on 
her  white  hair,  and  turning  to  Litvinoff  she  went 
on: 

"  My  aunt  and  I  have  decided  to  leave  Baden. 
.  .  I  think  it  will  be  easier  so  for  all  of  us." 

"  When  do  you  think  of  going?  "—said 
Litvinoff,  in  a  dull  voice.  He  recalled  that 
Irina  had  said  the  very  same  words  to  him  not 
long  before. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  was  on  the  point  of 
starting  forward,  but  Tatyana  restrained  her, 
touching  her  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Probably  soon,  very  soon." 

"  And  will  you  permit  me  to  inquire  whither 
you  intend  to  go?  "  asked  Litvinoff  in  the  same 
voice  as  before. 

"  First  to  Dresden,  then,  probably,  to  Russia." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  to  know  that  for  now, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch? '  .  .  exclaimed  Kapitolina 
Markovna. 

255 


SMOKE 

"  Aunty,  aunty,"  interposed  Tatyana  again. 
A  brief  silence  ensued. 

"  Tatyana  Petrovna,"— began  Litvinoff, — 
"  you  understand  what  a  torturingly — painful 
and  sorrowful  feeling  I  must  be  experiencing  at 
this  moment.  ..." 

Tatyana  rose. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— she  said,— "let  us 
not  talk  about  that.  .  .  .  Please,  I  entreat  you,  for 
your  own  sake  as  well  as  for  mine.  I  cannot  rec- 
ognise you  since  yesterday,  and  I  can  very  well 
imagine  that  you  must  be  suffering  now.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  talking,  what  is  the  use  of  irri- 
tating .  .  .  ."  (She  paused:  it  was  evident  that 
she  wished  to  wait  until  her  rising  emotion  was 
allayed,  to  swallow  the  tears  which  were  already 
welling  up;  and  in  this  she  succeeded.)  "  What 
is  the  use  of  irritating  the  wound  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  heal  ?  Let  us  leave  that  to  time.  But 
now  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you,  Grigory 
Mikhailitch:  I  will  give  you  a  letter  presently; 
be  so  good  as  to  post  that  letter  yourself,  it  is  of 
considerable  importance,  and  aunty  and  I  have 
no  time  now.  ...  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you.  Wait  a  moment.  .  .  I  will  return  imme- 
diately. .  .  ." 

On  the  threshold  of  the  door  Tatyana  cast  an 
apprehensive  glance  at  Kapitolina  Markovna; 
but  the  latter  was  sitting  in  so  dignified  and  de- 
corous an  attitude,  with  such  a  severe  expression 

256 


SMOKE 

on  her  frowning  brow  and  tightly-compressed 
lips,  that  Tatyana  only  nodded  to  her,  and  left  the 
room. 

But  the  door  had  barely  closed  behind  her,  when 
all  expression  of  dignity  and  severity  instanta- 
neously vanished  from  the  face  of  Kapitolina 
Markovna:  she  rose,  rushed  up  to  Litvinoff  on 
tiptoe,  and  bending  double,  and  striving  to  look 
into  his  eyes,  she  began  to  speak  in  a  hurried, 
tearful  whisper: 

'  O  Lord  my  God,"— said  she,—"  Grigory 
Mikhailitch,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this:  is  it 
a  dream?  You  reject  Tanya,  you  have  ceased 
to  love  her,  you  have  betrayed  your  word!  You 
are  doing  this,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  you,  in 
whom  we  all  had  trusted  as  in  a  wall  of  stone! 
You?  You?  Thou,  Grisha?  .  .  ."  Kapitolina 
Markovna  paused. — "  Why,  you  are  killing  her, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch," — she  went  on,  without 
awaiting  an  answer,  and  her  tears  fairly  streamed, 
in  tiny  drops,  down  her  cheeks. — "  You  need  not 
regard  the  fact  that  she  is  keeping  up  her  cour- 
age, for  you  know  what  her  disposition  is!  She 
never  complains ;  she  never  pities  herself,  so  others 
must  pity  her!  Here  she  is  now,  persuading  me: 
■  Aunty,  we  must  maintain  our  dignity! '  but  who 
cares  about  dignity,  when  I  foresee  death,  death. 
.  .  ."  Tatyana  made  a  noise  with  a  chair  in  the 
adjoining  room. — "  Yes,  I  foresee  death," — re- 
sumed the  old  woman,  in  a  still  softer  voice. — 

257 


SMOKE 

'  And  what  can  have  happened?  Have  you  been 
bewitched?  It  was  not  so  very  long  ago,  was  it, 
that  you  were  writing  her  the  tenderest  sort  of 
letters?  Yes,  and  in  conclusion,  can  an  honest 
man  behave  in  this  manner?  I,  as  you  know,  am 
a  woman  wholly  devoid  of  prejudices,  esprit  fort, 
and  I  have  given  Tanya  the  same  sort  of  educa- 
tion— she,  also,  has  a  free  spirit.  .  .  ." 

'  Aunty!  "  rang  out  Tatyana's  voice  from  the 
next  room. 

"  But  your  word  of  honour, — this  is  duty, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch.  Especially  for  people  with 
your — with  our  principles!  If  we  do  not  recog- 
nise duty,  what  is  left  to  us?  That  must  not  be 
violated — in  this  way,  at  one's  own  caprice,  with- 
out considering  what  is  to  be  the  result  on  others ! 
This  is  dishonest  .  .  .  yes,  it  is  a  crime ;  what  sort 
of  freedom  is  this?  " 

"  Aunty,  come  here,  please," — rang  out  again. 

"  In  a  minute,  my  darling,  in  a  minute.  .  ." 
Kapitolina  Markovna  seized  Litvinoff  by  the 
hand. — "  I  see  you  are  angry,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch. .  ."  ("I?  I  am  angry?"  he  tried  to  ex- 
claim, but  his  tongue  was  benumbed.)  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  make  you  angry — O  Lord!  am  I  in  any 
mood  for  that?  On  the  contrary,  I  wish  to  entreat 
you:  change  your  mind  while  still  there  is  time; 
do  not  destroy  her,  do  not  destroy  your  own 
happiness;  she  will  trust  you  again,  Grigory 
Mikhailitch,  she  will  trust  you  again;  nothing 

258 


SMOKE 

is  lost  yet;  for  she  loves  you  as  no  one  ever  will 
love  you!  Abandon  this  hateful  Baden-Baden, 
let  us  go  away  together,  only  get  away  from  un- 
der this  spell,  and,  the  chief  thing  of  all,  have 
pity,  have  pity.  .  ." 

'  But  aunty,"— said  Tatyana,  with  a  trace  of 
impatience  in  her  voice. 

But  Kapitolina  Markovna  did  not  obey  her. 

"  Only  say  yes,"— she  persisted  to  Litvinoff, 
— "  and  I  will  arrange  all  the  rest.  .  .  Come,  at 
least  nod  your  head  at  me!  nod  your  head,  just 
once,  like  this ! '  Litvinoff  felt  as  though  he 
would  gladly  have  died  at  that  moment;  but  he 
did  not  utter  the  word  "  yes,"  and  he  did  not  nod 
his  head. 

Tatyana  made  her  appearance,  letter  in  hand. 
Kapitolina  Markovna  instantly  sprang  away 
from  Litvinoff,  and  turning  her  face  aside,  bent 
low  over  the  table,  as  though  she  were  inspecting 
the  bills  and  papers  which  lay  upon  it. 

Tatyana  approached  Litvinoff. 

"  Here,"— said  she,—"  this  is  the  letter  of 
which  I  spoke  to  you.  .  .  You  will  go  immedi- 
ately to  the  post-office,  will  you  not  ?  " 

Litvinoff  raised  his  eyes.  .  .  Before  him,  in 
very  truth,  stood  his  judge.  Tatyana  seemed 
to  him  taller,  more  stately;  her  face,  beaming 
with  unprecedented  beauty,  had  become  magnifi- 
cently petrified,  as  in  a  statue;  her  bosom  did 
not  rise  and  fall,  and  her  gown,  uniform  in  hue, 

259 


SMOKE 

and  close-fitting,  fell,  like  a  chiton,  in  the  long, 
straight  folds  of  marble  fabrics,  to  her  feet,  which 
it  concealed.  Tatyana  was  gazing  straight  be- 
fore her,  at  Litvinoff  only,  and  her  glance,  also 
smooth  and  cold,  was  the  glance  of  a  statue.  In 
it  he  read  his  sentence;  he  bowed,  took  the  letter 
from  the  hand  which  was  immovably  outstretched 
toward  him  and  silently  departed. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  flew  at  Tatyana,  but  the 
latter  repulsed  her  embrace,  and  dropped  her 
eyes;  a  flush  overspread  her  face,  and  with  the 
words,  "  Come,  as  quickly  as  possible  now!  "  she 
returned  to  the  bedroom;  Kapitolina  Markovna 
followed  her,  with  drooping  head. 

On  the  letter  intrusted  to  Litvinoff  by  Ta- 
tyana stood  the  address  of  one  of  her  friends 
in  Dresden,  a  German,  who  let  out  small,  fur- 
nished apartments.  Litvinoff  dropped  the  letter 
into  the  post-box,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that, 
along  with  that  little  scrap  of  paper,  he  had  laid 
all  his  past,  his  whole  life,  in  the  grave.  He 
went  out  of  the  town,  and  roamed,  for  a  long 
time,  along  the  narrow  paths  among  the  vine- 
yards; he  could  not  rid  himself  of  an  incessant 
feeling  of  scorn  for  himself,  which  beset  him  like 
the  buzzing  of  an  importunate  summer  fly:  he 
certainly  had  played  a  far  from  enviable  part  in 
this  last  interview.  .  .  .  And  when  he  returned  to 
the  hotel  and,  a  little  while  later,  inquired  about 
his   ladies,   he   was   informed   that   immediately 

260 


SMOKE 

after  his  departure  they  had  ordered  themselves 
to  be  driven  to  the  railway  station,  and  had  set  off, 
with  the  mail-train,  no  one  knew  whither.  Their 
things  had  been  packed  and  their  bills  paid  since 
the  morning.  Tatyana  had  requested  Litvinoff 
to  take  the  letter  to  the  post-office,  evidently  with 
a  view  to  getting  him  out  of  the  way.  He  tried 
to  question  the  door-porter:  "  Had  not  the  ladies 
left  a  note  for  him?  "  but  the  porter  replied  in  the 
negative,  and  even  manifested  surprise;  it  was 
plain  that  this  sudden  departure  from  rooms  en- 
gaged for  a  week  struck  him  as  strange  and  sus- 
picious. Litvinoff  turned  his  back  on  him,  and 
locked  himself  up  in  his  own  room. 

He  did  not  leave  it  until  the  following  day; 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night  he  sat  at  the 
table,  writing  and  tearing  up  what  he  had  writ- 
ten. .  .  Daylight  had  already  begun  to  dawn 
when  he  finished  his  work,— which  was  a  letter  to 
Irina. 


201 


XXIII 

This  is  what  the  letter  to  Irina  contained : 

"  My  betrothed  bride  went  away  yesterday :  we  shall 
never  see  each  other  again.  .  .  I  do  not  even  know 
with  certainty  where  she  will  live.  She  carried  away 
with  her  everything  which  hitherto  had  seemed  to  be 
desirable  and  precious ;  all  my  purposes,  plans,  inten- 
tions, vanished  along  with  her;  my  very  labours  have 
disappeared,  my  prolonged  toil  has  been  turned  to 
naught,  all  my  occupations  have  lost  their  sense  and 
application ;  all  this  is  dead ;  my  ego,  my  former  ego, 
died  and  was  buried  with  yesterday.  I  feel  that  plainly, 
I  see,  I  know  it.  .  .  And  I  do  not  complain,  in  the 
least,  of  that.  It  is  not  for  the  purpose  of  complaining 
that  I  have  begun  to  discuss  this  with  thee.  .  .  Have 
I  any  cause  to  complain,  when  thou  lovest  me,  Irina? 
I  only  want  to  tell  thee,  that  out  of  all  this  dead  past, 
out  of  all  these  beginnings  and  hopes — which  have 
turned  to  smoke  and  dust — only  one  living,  invincible 
thing  remains :  my  love  for  thee.  Save  for  this  love, 
I  have  nothing  left:  it.  would  not  be  enough  to  call 
it  my  sole  treasure ;  I  am  all  in  this  love,  this  love  is 
the  whole  of  me ;  in  it  is  my  future,  my  vocation,  my 
holy  things,  my  fatherland !  Thou  knowest  me,  Irina, 
thou  knowest  that  set  phrases  are  foreign  and  abhor- 
rent to  me,  and  however  forcible  may  be  the  words  where- 
with I  strive  to  express  my  feeling,  thou  wilt  not  doubt 

262 


SMOKE 

their  sincerity,  thou  wilt  not  consider  them  exaggerated. 
It  is  not  a  boy,  who  is  stammering  out  ill-considered 
vows  before  thee,  in  a  burst  of  momentary  enthusiasm, 
it  is  a  man,  already  tried  by  the  years,  who  simply  and 
straightforwardly,  almost  with  terror,  is  expressing 
that  which  he  has  recognised  to  be  the  indubitable  truth. 
Yes,  thy  love  has  taken  the  place  of  everything  else  with 
me — everything,  everything!  Judge  for  thyself:  can 
I  leave  all  this  in  the  hands  of  another  man,  can  I 
permit  him  to  dispose  of  thee?  Thou,  thou  wilt  belong 
to  him,  all  my  being,  my  heart's  blood,  will  belong  to 
him, — and  I  myself  .  .  .  Where  am  I?  What  am  I? 
I  am  to  stand  on  one  side,  as  a  looker-on  ....  a 
looker-on  at  my  own  life !  No,  this  is  impossible,  impos- 
sible !  To  share,  to  share  by  stealth  in  that  without 
which  it  is  not  worth  while,  without  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  breathe  .  .  .  that  is  a  lie  and  death.  I  know 
how  great  is  the  sacrifice  I  require  of  thee,  without 
having  any  right  so  to  do;  and  what  can  give  one 
a  right  to  a  sacrifice  ?  But  I  do  not  take  this  step  from 
egoism:  an  egoist  would  find  it  easier  and  more  tran- 
quil not  to  raise  this  question  at  all.  Yes,  my  demands 
are  heavy,  and  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  they  frighten 
thee.  — The  people  with  whom  thou  must  live  are  hate- 
ful to  me,  society  oppresses  thee;  but  hast  thou  the 
strength  to  abandon  that  same  society,  to  trample  un- 
der foot  the  crown  wherewith  it  has  crowned  thee,  to 
arouse  against  thee  public  opinion,  the  opinion  of  those 
hateful  people?  Ask  thyself,  Irfna;  do  not  take  upon 
thyself  a  burden  greater  than  thou  canst  bear.  .— 
I  do  not  mean  to  reproach  thee,  but  remember:  once 
before  thou  hast  failed  to  resist  the  charm.  I  can  give 
thee    so    little    in    exchange    for    what    thou    wilt    lose! 

263 


SMOKE 

Hearken  to  my  last  word:  if  thou  dost  not  feel  thyself 
in  a  condition  to  leave  everything  and  follow  me  to- 
morrow, to-day, — thou  seest  how  boldly  I  speak,  how 
little  I  spare  myself,  —  if  the  uncertainty  of  the  fu- 
ture, and  estrangement,  and  isolation,  and  public  cen- 
sure alarm  thee,  if  thou  canst  not  trust  thyself,  in  a 
word — tell  me  so  frankly  and  without  delay,  and  I  will 
go  away ;  I  will  go  away,  with  a  harrowed  soul,  but  I 
will  thank  thee  for  thy  truthfulness.  But  if  thou,  my 
most  beautiful,  my  radiant  empress,  hast  really  come 
to  love  such  a  petty,  obscure  man  as  I,  and  art  really 
ready  to  share  his  lot, — well,  then  give  me  thy  hand,  and 
we  will  set  forth  together  on  our  different  road !  Only, 
thou  must  know  this:  my  resolution  is  firm:  either  all, 
or  nothing !  This  is  madness  .  .  .  but  I  cannot  do 
otherwise,  I  cannot,  Irfna !     I  love  thee  too  mightily. 

"Thy  G.  L." 

This  letter  did  not  please  Litvinoff  himself 
very  much.  It  did  not  quite  faithfully  and  ac- 
curately express  what  he  wished  to  say ;  awkward 
expressions,  by  turns  magniloquent  and  bookish, 
occurred  in  it,  and  when  it  was  finished  it  was  no 
better  than  many  of  the  other  letters  which  he  had 
torn  up;  but  it  happened  to  be  the  last  one,  and 
after  all,  the  chief  thing  had  been  said;  and 
weary,  exhausted,  Litvinoff  did  not  feel  himself 
capable  of  extracting  anything  else  from  his 
head.  Moreover,  he  did  not  possess  the  skill  to  set 
forth  his  whole  thought  in  literary  form,  and,  like 
all  persons  who  are  not  accustomed  to  this,  he 

264 


SMOKE 

worried  over  the  style.    His  first  letter  had,  prob- 
ably, been  the  best:  it  had  poured  forth  burning 
hot  from  his  heart.    At  any  rate,  Litvinoff  des- 
patched  his  epistle  to  Irina. 
She  replied  with  a  brief  note: 

"  Come  to  me  to-day,"  she  wrote  to  him ;  "  he  has 
gone  off  for  the  whole  day.  Thy  letter  has  agitated 
me  extremely.  I  keep  thinking,  thinking  .  .  .  and 
my  head  is  dizzy  with  my  thoughts.  I  am  greatly  dis- 
tressed, but  thou  lovest  me,  and  I  am  happy. 

"Thy  I." 

She  was  sitting  in  her  boudoir  when  Litvinoff 
presented  himself  to  her.  He  was  ushered  in  by 
the  same  thirteen-year-old  girl  who  had  kept 
watch  for  him  on  the  staircase  the  day  before. 
On  the  table,  in  front  of  Irina,  stood  an  open, 
semicircular  pasteboard  box  filled  with  laces;  she 
was  abstractedly  turning  them  over  with  one 
hand;  in  the  other  she  held  Litvinoff's  letter. 
She  had  only  just  stopped  crying:  her  eyelashes 
were  wet,  and  her  eyelids  were  swollen ;  the  traces 
of  tears  which  had  not  been  wiped  away  were 
visible  on  her  cheeks.  Litvinoff  halted  on  the 
threshold:  she  had  not  observed  his  entrance. 

"  Thou  art  weeping? "  he  said  in  amazement. 

She  started,  passed  her  hand  over  her  hair,  and 
smiled. 

"Why  art  thou  weeping?  "—repeated  Litvi- 
noff.    She  silently  pointed  to  the  letter. 

265 


SMOKE 

"  So  thou  art  crying  over  that  .  .  ."  he  said, 
haltingly. 

"  Come  here,  sit  down,"— she  said, — "  give  me 
thy  hand.  Well,  yes,  I  have  been  crying. . .  .Why 
does  that  surprise  thee?  Is  this  easy?'  Again 
she  pointed  at  the  letter.    Litvinoff  sat  down. 

I  know  that  it  is  not  easy,  Irina;  I  say  the 
same  thing  to  thee  in  my  letter.  .  .  I  understand 
thy  position.  But  if  thou  belie  vest  in  the  signi- 
ficance of  thy  love  for  me,  if  my  words  have  con- 
vinced thee,  thou  must  also  understand  what  I 
now  feel  at  the  sight  of  thy  tears.  I  have  come 
hither  like  a  condemned  man,  but  I  am  waiting: 
what  will  be  announced  to  me?  Death  or  life? 
Thy  answer  will  decide  everything.  Only,  do 
not  look  at  me  with  such  eyes.  .  .  .  They  remind 
me  of  the  eyes  of  days  gone  by,  the  Moscow 
eyes." 

Irina  suddenly  blushed  and  turned  away,  as 
though  she  herself  were  conscious  of  something 
improper  in  her  gaze. 

"  Why  dost  thou  say  that,  Grigory?  Art  not 
thou  ashamed  of  thyself?  Thou  wishest  to  know 
my  answer  ....  but  canst  thou  doubt  it?  Thy 
letter,  my  friend,  has  set  me  to  thinking.  Thou 
writest  here  that  my  love  has  replaced  all  else 
for  thee,  that  even  thy  former  occupations  must 
now  remain  without  application;  but  I  ask  thee: 
Can  a  man  live  by  love  alone?  Will  it  not  pall 
on  him  in  the  end,  will  not  he  long  for  activity, 

266 


SMOKE 

and  will  not  he  upbraid  that  which  has  alienated 
him  from  it?  That  is  the  thought  which  terrifies 
me ;  that  is  what  I  fear,  and  not  that  which  thou 
hast  proposed." 

Litvinoff  gazed  attentively  at  Irina,  and  Irina 
gazed  attentively  at  him  as  though  each  of  them 
was  desirous  of  penetrating  further  and  more 
profoundly  into  the  soul  of  the  other,  further  and 
more  profoundly  than  the  spoken  word  can  at- 
tain, or  reveal. 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  thy  fearing  that,"  — 
began  Litvinoff.—"  I  must  have  expressed  my- 
self badly.—"  Boredom?  Inactivity?  With  the 
new  forces  which  thy  love  will  give  me?  Oh, 
Irina,  believe  me,  thy  love  is  all  the  world  to 
me,  and  I  myself  cannot  now  foresee  all  that  may 
develop  from  it! " 

Irina  became  thoughtful. 

"  But  where  are  we  to  go?  "—she  whispered. 

"  Where?  We  will  talk  about  that  hereafter. 
But,  of  course  ...  of  course,  thou  consentest 
.  .  .  thou  consentest,  Irina? ' 

She  looked  at  him.—"  And  thou  wilt  be 
happy? " 

"Oh,  Irina!" 

"  Thou  wilt  regret  nothing?    Never? ' 

She  bent  over  the  box  of  laces,  and  again  began 
to  sort  them  over. 

"  Be  not  angry  with  me,  my  dearest,  if  I  busy 
myself  with  this  nonsense  at  such  a  moment.  .  . 

267 


SMOKE 

I  am  obliged  to  go  to  a  ball,  given  by  a  certain 
lady.  These  rags  have  been  sent  to  me,  and  I 
must  make  my  selection  to-day.  Akh !  I  am  ter- 
ribly distressed!" — she  suddenly  exclaimed,  and 
laid  her  face  against  the  edge  of  the  box.  .  . 
Again  tears  dropped  from  her  eyes.  .  .  She 
turned  away :  the  tears  might  fall  on  the  lace. 

"  Irina,  thou  art  weeping  again,"— began  Lit- 
vinoff ,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  am,"— assented  Irina.—"  Akh, 
Grigory,  do  not  torture  me,  do  not  torture  thy- 
self ! . .  .  Let  us  be  free  people !  What  is  the  harm 
if  I  do  cry?  Yes,  and  do  I  understand  myself 
why  these  tears  flow?  Thou  knowest,  thou  hast 
heard  my  decision,  thou  art  convinced  that  it  is 
unalterable,  that  I  consent  to  .  .  .  how  was  it  thou 
didst  word  it?  .  .  to  everything  or  nothing  .  .  . 
what  more?  Let  us  be  free!  Why  these  mutual 
chains  ?  Thou  and  I  are  alone  now.  Thou  lovest 
me,  I  love  thee ;  have  we  nothing  better  to  do  than 
to  extort  our  opinions  from  each  other?  Look  at 
me;  I  have  not  tried  to  present  myself  in  a  fine 
light  before  thee,  not  by  so  much  as  a  single  word 
have  I  hinted  at  the  fact,  that  it  may  not  be  so 
easy  for  me  to  trample  under  foot  my  conjugal 
duties.  .  .  But  I  do  not  deceive  mvself,  I  know 
that  I  am  a  criminal,  and  that  he  has  a  right  to 
kill  me.  Well,  and  what  of  that!  Let  us  be 
free,  I  say.     The  day  is  ours— eternity  is  ours." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  looked  down  upon 

268 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff,  smiling  faintly,  and  narrowing  her 
eyelids,  and  with  her  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow, 
sweeping  back  a  long  lock  of  hair,  upon  which 
sparkled  two  or  three  tears.  A  rich  lace  shoulder- 
cape  slipped  from  the  table  and  fell  on  the  floor, 
at  Irina's  feet.  She  trod  upon  it  with  scorn.— 
"Do  not  I  please  thee  to-day?  Have  I  grown 
ugly  since  yesterday?  Tell  me,  hast  thou  often 
beheld  a  more  beautiful  arm?  And  my  hair? 
Tell  me,  dost  thou  love  me?  " 

She  seized  him  with  both  arms,  pressed  his 
head  to  her  breast ;  her  comb  rattled  and  fell,  and 
her  loosened  hair  flowed  over  him  in  a  soft,  per- 
fumed flood. 


260 


XXIV 

Litvinoff  paced  to  and  fro  in  his  room  at  the 
hotel,  with  thoughtfully  drooping  head.  It  now 
behoved  him  to  pass  from  theory  to  practice,  to 
seek  the  means  and  the  road  for  a  flight,  for  an 
emigration  to  unknown  lands.  .  .  But,  strange  to 
say,  he  was  not  meditating  about  these  means  and 
roads  so  much  as  on  the  point,— had  the  resolu- 
tion on  which  he  had  so  obstinately  insisted  been 
actually,  indubitably  taken?  Had  the  final,  ir- 
revocable word  been  uttered?  But,  surely, 
Irina  had  said  to  him  at  parting:  "  Act,  act,  and 
when  everything  is  ready,  thou  hast  only  to 
inform  me."  It  was  settled!  Away  with  all 
doubts.  .  .  He  must  proceed.  And  Litvinoff  had 
proceeded — so  far — to  meditation.  First  of  all, 
there  was  the  question  of  money.  Litvinoff  had 
on  hand  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  thirty- 
eight  gulden— in  French  money  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  fifty-eight  francs;  it  was  an 
insignificant  sum,  but  sufficient  for  their  first 
necessities,  and  so  he  must  write  at  once  to  his 
father  to  send  him  as  much  as  possible :  he  might 
sell  a  forest,  a  bit  of  land.  .  .  But  under  what  pre- 
text? .  .  .  Well,  a  pretext  would  be  found.    Irina 

270 


SMOKE 

had  spoken,  it  is  true,  of  her  bijoux,  but  it  was  not 
proper  to  take  that  into  consideration ;  who  knows 
but  they  might  serve  for  a  rainy  day.  In  addi- 
tion, among  his  assets  was  a  fine  Geneva  half- 
chronometer  watch,  for  which  he  might  get . .  say, 
four  hundred  francs.  Litvinoff  betook  himself 
to  his  bankers,  and  turned  the  conversation,  in  a 
roundabout  way,  on  the  subject  whether  it  would 
be  possible,  in  case  of  need,  to  borrow  money. 
But  the  bankers  in  Baden  are  an  experienced 
and  cautious  folk,  and  in  reply  to  such  rounda- 
bout hints  immediately  assume  a  decrepit,  lan- 
guid mien,  precisely  like  that  of  a  field-flower 
whose  stem  has  been  severed  by  the  scythe;  sev- 
eral of  them,  however,  laugh  cheerfully  and 
boldly  in  your  face,  as  though  they  appreciate 
your  innocent  jest.  Litvinoff,  to  his  own  mortifi- 
cation, even  tried  his  luck  at  roulette,  even— oh, 
the  ignominy!— placed  a  thaler  on  thirty  num- 
bers, corresponding  to  the  number  of  his  years. 
He  did  this  with  a  view  to  augmenting  and 
rounding  out  his  capital;  and,  in  fact,  if  he  did 
not  augment,  he  did  round  out  his  capital,  by 
losing  the  extra  twenty-eight  gulden.  The 
second  question  was,  also,  of  no  little  importance : 
A  passport.  Bui  a  passport  is  not  so  obligatory 
for  a  woman,  and  there  are  countries  where  it  is 
not  required  at  all.  Belgium,  for  example,  or 
England;  and,  in  conclusion,  a  passport  which 
was  not  Russian  might  be  obtained.     Litvinoff 

271 


SMOKE 

reflected  very  seriously  on  all  these  things.  His 
resolution  was  strong,  without  the  slightest  trace 
of  wavering ;  but  in  the  meantime,  contrary  to  his 
will,  against  his  will,  something  the  reverse  of 
serious,  something  almost  comic,  passed  through, 
leaked  through  his  meditations,  as  though  his 
enterprise  itself  were  a  matter  of  jest,  and  no  one 
had  ever  eloped  with  any  one  in  reality,  but  only 
in  comedies  and  romances,  and,  possibly,  some- 
where in  the  provincial  tracts,  in  some  Tchukhlom 
or  Syzran  district,  where,  according  to  the  state- 
ment of  one  traveller,  people  even  vomit  with 
tedium  at  times.  At  this  point  it  recurred  to 
Litvinoff's  memory  how  one  of  his  friends,  cor- 
net Batzoff,  on  the  retired  list,  had  carried  off 
a  merchant's  daughter  in  a  post-sledge  with 
sleigh-bells,  having  preliminarily  got  her  parents, 
and  even  the  bride  herself,  intoxicated,  and  how 
it  had  afterward  turned  out  that  he  had  been 
cheated,  and  almost  killed  outright,  to  boot. 
Litvinoff  waxed  extremelv  wroth  with  himself 
for  such  inappropriate  recollections,  and  then, 
recalling  Tatyana,  her  sudden  departure,  all  that 
woe  and  suffering  and  shame,  he  became  but 
too  profoundly  conscious  that  the  deed  which  he 
was  contemplating  was  of  anything  but  a  face- 
tious nature,  and  that  he  had  been  in  the  right 
when  he  had  said  to  Irina  that  no  other  issue  was 
left,  for  his  own  honour's  sake.  .  .  And  again,  at 
this  mere  name,  something  burning  momentarily 

272 


SMOKE 

enveloped  him  with  a  sweet  anguish,  then  died 
away  around  his  heart. 

The  trampling  of  a  horse's  hoofs  resounded  be- 
hind him.  .  .  He  stepped  aside  .  .  Irina  had  over- 
taken him  on  horseback ;  by  her  side  rode  the  fat 
general.  She  recognised  Litvinoff,  nodded  her 
head  to  him,  and  giving  her  horse  a  blow  on  the 
withers  with  her  whip,  started  it  into  a  gallop, 
then  suddenly  urged  it  onward  at  full  speed.  Her 
dark  veil  floated  in  the  wind.  .  . 

"  Pas  si  vite!  Nom  de  Dieu!  pas  si  vite!  "— 
shouted  the  general,  and  galloped  after  her. 


273 


XXV 

On  the  following  morning,  Litvinoff  had  just 
returned  home  from  his  bankers,  with  whom  he 
had  had  another  conference  about  the  playful 
unsteadiness  of  our  rate  of  exchange,  and  the  best 
method  of  sending  money  abroad,  when  the  door- 
porter  handed  him  a  letter.  He  recognised 
Irma's  handwriting,  and  without  breaking  the 
seal— an  evil  premonition  awoke  in  him,  God  only 
knows  why— he  went  off  to  his  own  room.  This 
is  what  he  read  (the  letter  was  written  in  French) : 


a 


My  Dearest  !  I  have  been  thinking  all  night  about 
thy  proposition.  .  .  I  will  not  deceive  thee.  Thou  hast 
been  frank  with  me,  and  I  will  be  frank:  I  cannot  elope 
with  thee,  I  have  not  the  strength  to  do  it.  I  feel  how 
culpable  I  am  toward  thee ;  my  second  fault  is  greater 
than  the  first — I  despise  myself,  my  cowardice;  I  over- 
whelm myself  with  reproaches,  but  I  cannot  change 
myself.  In  vain  do  I  demonstrate  to  myself  that  I 
have  ruined  thy  happiness,  that  thou  now  hast  a  right 
to  regard  me  merely  as  a  frivolous  coquette,  that  I 
offered  myself,  that  I  myself  gave  thee  a  solemn  prom- 
ise. .  .  I  am  horrified ;  I  feel  hatred  toward  myself,  but 
I  cannot  act  otherwise — I  cannot,  I  cannot.  I  do  not 
seek  to  justify  myself;  I  will  not  tell  thee  that  I  myself 

274 


SMOKE 

was  carried  away  ....  all  that  signifies  nothing;  but 
I  do  wish  to  tell  thee,  and  to  repeat  it,  and  repeat  it 
jet  again :  I  am  thine,  thine  forever,  do  with  me  as 
thou  wilt,  when  thou  wilt:  without  resistance  or  calcu- 
lation, I  am  thine.  .  .  But  flee,  abandon  everything. 
.  .  no !  no !  no !  I  entreated  thee  to  save  me.  I  myself 
hoped  to  obliterate  everything,  to  consume  everything, 
as  in  the  fire  .  .  .  but  evidently,  there  is  no  salvation 
for  me;  evidently,  the  poison  has  penetrated  too  deeply 
within  me;  evidently,  it  is  not  possible  to  breathe  this 
atmosphere  for  a  space  of  many  years  with  impunity ! 
I  have  wavered  long  whether  I  ought  to  write  thee  this 
letter;  it  is  terrible  to  me  to  reflect  what  decision  thou 
wilt  arrive  at ;  I  trust  only  in  thy  love  for  me.  But  I 
have  considered  that  it  would  be  dishonest  on  my  part 
not  to  tell  thee  the  truth — the  more  so  as  thou  hast,  per- 
haps, already  begun  to  take  the  first  measures  for  the 
accomplishment  of  our  intention.  Akh !  it  was  very 
beautiful,  but  impossible  of  fulfilment !  Oh,  my  friend, 
regard  me  as  a  weak,  frivolous  woman ;  despise  me,  but 
do  not  desert  me,  do  not  desert  thy  Irfna !  .  .  .  I  have 
not  the  strength  to  abandon  this  society,  but  neither 
can  I  live  in  it  without  thee.  We  shall  soon  return 
to  Petersburg;  do  thou  come  thither;  dwell  there;  we 
will  find  occupation  for  thee;  thy  past  labours  shall 
not  be  wasted ;  thou  shalt  find  a  profitable  application 
for  them  .  .  .  only  live  near  me,  only  love  me  as  I 
am,  with  all  my  weaknesses  and  vices,  and  understand 
fully  that  no  one's  heart  will  ever  be  so  tenderly  devoted 
to  thee  as  the  heart  of  thy  Irfna.  Come  quickly  to 
me ;  I  shall  not  have  a  minute's  peace  until  I  see  thee. 

"  Thine,  thine,  thine,  I." 

275 


SMOKE 

The  blood  beat  like  a  hammer  in  Litvinoff's 
head,  and  then  slowly  and  heavily  retreated  to 
his  heart,  and  became  as  cold  within  him  as  a 
stone.  He  read  over  Irina's  letter,  and,  as  on 
that  other  occasion  in  Moscow,  fell  fainting  on 
the  divan,  and  remained  there  motionless.  A 
dark  abyss  had  suddenly  surrounded  him  on  all 
sides,  and  he  stared  despairingly,  bereft  of 
reason,  into  the  gloom.  Thus,  once  more 
betrayal,  or  no,  worse  than  betrayal— a  lie  and 
trivialities. . .  And  life  was  shattered ;  everything 
had  been  torn  up  by  the  roots,  utterly,  and  the 
only  thing  to  which  he  might  have  clung — that 
last  support — was  shattered  into  fragments  also! 
"  Follow  us  to  Petersburg," — he  repeated  with 
a  bitter,  inward  laugh:  "  we  will  find  occupation 
for  thee  there  "  .  .  .  "  Will  they  promote  me  to 
be  head  clerk  of  a  department,  I  wonder?  And 
who  is  we?  That  is  where  her  past  spoke  out! 
There  lies  the  secret,  repulsive  thing,  which  I  do 
not  know,  but  which  she  would  like  to  obliterate, 
and  burn  as  in  the  fire!  That  is  that  world  of 
intrigues,  of  secret  relations,  of  scandals  of  Byel- 
skys  and  Dolskys.  .  .  And  what  a  future! 
what  a  splendid  role  awaits  me!  To  live  near 
her,  to  visit  her,  to  share  with  her  the  vicious  mel- 
ancholy of  a  fashionable  lady  whom  society  op- 
presses and  bores,  though  she  cannot  exist  outside 
its  circle,  to  be  her  domestic  friend,  and,  of  course, 
the  friend  of  His  Excellency  also  .  .  .  until  .  .  . 

276 


SMOKE 

until  her  whim  is  past,  and  the  plebeian  friend 
loses  his  piquancy,  and  that  same  fat  general  or 
Mr.  Finikoff  replaces  him,— that  is  both  possible 
and  agreeable,  and,  if  you  like,  profitable  .  .  . 
she  speaks  of  a  profitable  application  of  my 
talents? — but  that  design  is  impossible  of  realisa- 
tion, impossible  of  realisation!  .  .  ."  In  Litvi- 
noff 's  soul  there  arose  something  in  the  nature 
of  the  momentary  gusts  of  wind  which  precede  a 
thunderstorm— sudden,  wild  outbursts.  .  .  Every 
expression  in  Irina's  letter  aroused  his  indigna- 
tion; the  very  assurances  as  to  the  immutability 
of  her  feelings  affronted  him.  "  Things  can- 
not remain  like  this," — he  exclaimed  at  last, — "  I 
will  not  permit  her  to  play  so  pitilessly  with  my 
life.  .  ." 

Litvinoff  sprang  up,  seized  his  hat.  But  what 
was  there  to  be  done?  Ely  to  her?  Reply  to 
her  letter?  He  halted,  and  his  arms  sank  by  his 
sides. 

Yes:  what  was  there  to  be  done? 

Had  he  not  himself  proposed  to  her  that  fatal 
choice?  It  had  not  turned  out  as  he  had  wished.  .  . 
every  choice  is  subject  to  that  misfortune.  She 
had  changed  her  decision,  it  is  true;  she  herself 
had  been  the  first  to  declare  that  she  would 
abandon  everything  and  follow  him— that  was 
true  also.  But  neither  did  she  deny  her  guilt,  she 
called  herself,  in  plain  terms,  a  weak  woman ;  she 
had  not  meant  to  deceive  him,  she  had  been  de- 

277 


SMOKE 

ceived  in  herself What  retort  was  there 

to  make?  At  all  events,  she  was  not  dissimulat- 
ing, not  dealing  doubly  with  him  .  .  .  she  was 
frank  with  him,  pitilessly  frank.  Nothing  had 
forced  her  to  state  her  intentions  on  the  spot, 
nothing  had  prevented  her  soothing  him  with 
promises,  putting  off  everything,  leaving  every- 
thing in  uncertainty,  until  their  very  departure 
.  .  .  her  departure  with  her  husband  for  Italy! 
But  she  had  ruined  his  life,  she  had  ruined  two 
lives!  .  .  .  Was  not  that  enough? 

But  toward  Tatyana  she  was  not  to  blame; 
he  was  to  blame,  he  alone,  Litvinoff,  and  he 
had  no  right  to  shake  off  from  himself  the 
responsibility  for  that  which  his  fault  had 
imposed,  like  an  iron  yoke,  upon  him.  .  .  . 
All  that  was  so;  but  what  remained  to  be  done 
now? 

Again  he  flung  himself  on  the  divan,  and 
again,  darkly,  leaving  no  trace,  with  devouring 
swiftness  .  .  .  the  moments  flitted  past.  .  . 

"  And  why  not  obey  her?  "—flashed  through 
his  mind.  "  She  loves  me,  she  is  mine— and  in 
our  very  attraction  for  each  other,  in  that  pas- 
sion which,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  has 
broken  out  and  made  its  way  forth  to  the  sur- 
face with  such  violence,  is  there  not  something 
inevitable,  irresistible  as  the  law  of  nature?  Live 
in  Petersburg  .  .  .  but  shall  I  be  the  first  man 
who  finds  himself  in  such  a  position?    Yes,  and 

278 


SMOKE 

where  could  she  and  I  have  found  a  refuge? .  .  ." 
And  he  fell  into  thought,  and  the  image  of 
Irina,  in  that  aspect  in  which  it  had  forever  im- 
printed itself  on  his  most  recent  recollections, 
softly  presented  itself  before  him.  .  .  . 

But  not  for  long.  .  .  He  recovered  himself,  and 
with  a  fresh  outburst  of  indignation,  he  thrust 
away  from  him  both  those  recollections,  and  that 
enchanting  image. 

!  Thou  art  giving  me  to  drink  of  that  golden 
cup," — he  exclaimed, — "  but  there  is  poison  in 
thy  beverage,  and  thy  white  wings  are  soiled 
with  filth.  .  .  Away!  To  remain  here  with  thee, 
after  having  .  .  .  driven  away,  driven  away  my 
betrothed  bride  .  .  .  would  be  a  dishonourable,  a 
dishonourable  act ! "  He  clenched  his  fists  bit- 
terly, and  another  face,  with  the  imprint  of 
suffering  and  set  features,  with  speechless  re- 
proach in  the  farewell  glance,  surged  up  from 
the  depths.  .  . 

And  for  a  long  time  Litvinoff  tormented 
himself  in  this  manner;  for  a  long  time,  like  a 
critically  sick  man,  his  tortured  thoughts  tossed 
from  side  to  side.  .  .  At  last  he  calmed  down ;  at 
last  he  reached  a  decision.  From  the  very  first 
moment  he  had  foreseen  what  that  decision 
would  be  ...  it  presented  itself  to  him,  at  first, 
as  a  remote,  barely-perceptible  spot  in  the  midst 
of  the  whirlwind  and  the  gloom  of  his  internal 
conflict ;  then  it  began  to  come  nearer  and  nearer, 

279 


SMOKE 

and  ended  by  cutting  into  his  heart  with  a  cold, 
sharp  blade. 

Again  Litvinoff  dragged  his  trunk  forth  from 
the  corner;  again,  without  haste,  and  even  with 
a  certain  dull  carefulness,  he  packed  all  his 
things,  rang  for  a  servant,  paid  his  bill,  and 
despatched  a  note  in  Russian,  to  Irina,  which 
ran  as  follows: 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  more  to  blame  with 
respect  to  me  now  than  you  were  in  days  gone  by ;  but  I 
do  know  that  the  present  blow  is  much  the  stronger.  .  . 
This  is  the  end.  You  say  to  me :  '  I  cannot , ;  and  I 
repeat  the  same  to  you :  I  cannot  ...  do  what  you  wish. 
I  cannot,  and  I  will  not.  Do  not  answer  me.  You 
are  not  in  a  position  to  give  me  the  only  answer  which  I 
would  accept.  I  am  going  away  to-morrow,  early,  by  the 
first  train.  Farewell ;  may  you  be  happy.  .  .  Probably 
we  shall  not  meet  again.11 

Litvinoff  did  not  leave  his  room  until  night- 
fall; God  knows  whether  he  was  expecting  any- 
thing! About  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a 
lady  in  a  black  mantle,  with  a  veil  over  her  face, 
walked  twice  past  the  entrance  of  his  hotel. 
After  stepping  a  little  to  one  side,  and  casting 
a  glance  at  some  point  in  the  distance,  she  sud- 
denly made  a  decisive  movement,  and  for  the 
third  time  directed  her  steps  toward  the  en- 
trance. .  . 

280 


SMOKE 

"Whither  are  you  going,  Irina  Pavlovna?" 
— rang  out  a  constrained  voice  behind  her. 

She  turned  round  with  convulsive  swiftness.  . 
Potugin  rushed  up  to  her. 

She  halted,  reflected,  and  fairly  flung  herself 
at  him,  thrust  her  arm  in  his,  and  drew  him 
aside. 

"  Take  me  away,  take  me  away,"— she  kept 
repeating,  panting. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna?"— he  murmured,  in  amazement. 

'  Take  me  away," — she  repeated  with  re- 
doubled force,—"  if  you  do  not  wish  to  have  me 
remain  forever  ....  there! ' 

Potugin  bowed  his  head  submissively,  and 
both  walked  rapidly  away. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Litvmoff 
was  entirely  ready  for  his  journey,  when  there 
came  into  his  room  .  .  .  that  same  Potugin. 

He  silently  approached  him,  and  silently 
shook  his  hand.  Litvinoff,  also,  said  nothing. 
Both  wore  long  faces,  and  both  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  smile. 

"  I  have  come  to  wish  you  a  prosperous  jour- 
ney,"—  Potugin  said,  at  last. 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  I  was  going 
away  to-day?  "—inquired  Litvinoff. 

Potugin  gazed  around  him,  on  the  floor.  .  . 
"  It  became  known  to  me  ...  as  you  see.  Our 
last  conversation  finally  took  such  a  strange  turn. 

281 


SMOKE 

.  .  I  did  not  wish  to  part  from  you  without  ex- 
pressing to  you  my  sincere  sympathy." 

"  Do  you  sympathise  with  me  now,  when  I 
am  going  away? " 

Potiigin  gazed  mournfully  at  LitvinofF. — 
"Ekh,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch," — he  began,  with  a  short  sigh, — "  we  are 
in  no  frame  of  mind  for  that  now,  we  are  in  no 
mood  for  subtleties  and  disputes.  Here  you  are, 
so  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  decidedly  indifferent 
to  our  national  literature,  and  therefore,  perhaps, 
you  have  no  conception  of  Vaska  Buslaeff  ?  " 

"Of  whom?" 

"  Of  Vaska  Buslaeff,  the  dashing  hero  of 
Novgorod  ...  in  the  Collection  of  Kirsha 
Danileff." 

"  What  Buslaeff?  "—ejaculated  LitvinofF, 
somewhat  dazed  bv  the  sudden  turn  which  the 
conversation  had  taken.  —  "  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  no  matter.  See  here,  this  is  what  I 
wished  to  call  to  your  attention.  Vaska  Bus- 
laeff, after  he  has  dragged  his  Novgorodians 
off  to  Jerusalem  on  a  pilgrimage,  and  there,  to 
their  horror,  has  bathed  naked  in  the  holy  river 
Jordan,  for  he  believed  '  neither  in  bell-clang, 
nor  in  dream,  nor  in  the  croaking  of  birds,' — 
that  logical  Vaska  Buslaeff  ascends  Mount 
Tabor,  and  on  the  crest  of  that  mountain,  lies 
a  huge  stone,  across  which  all  sorts  of  people 
have  tried,  in  vain,  to  leap.  .  .  .  Vaska  wishes  to 

282 


SMOKE 

try  his  luck  also.  And  on  his  way  up  the 
mountain  he  encounters  a  skull,  human  bones; 
he  kicks  it.  Well,  and  the  head  says  to  him: 
1  Why  dost  thou  kick?  I  have  known  how  to 
live;  I  know  also  how  to  wallow  in  the  dust— 
and  the  same  thing  shall  happen  unto  thee.'  ! 
And  in  fact  Vaska  leaps  across  the  stone,  and 
would  have  got  clear  over  had  not  he  caught  his 
heel,  and  cracked  his  skull.  And  here  I  must 
remark,  by  the  way,  that  it  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing  if  my  friends,  the  Slavyanophils,  who  are 
great  hands  at  kicking  all  sorts  of  death's-heads 
and  rotten  folks,  would  ponder  over  this  epic 
song." 

1  But  what  is  your  object  in  saying  all  this? ' 
— interrupted  Litvinoff  impatiently  at  last. — 
"  I  must  go,  excuse  me.  .  .  ." 

"  My  object  is," — replied  Potiigin,  and  his 
eyes  beamed  with  a  friendly  feeling  which  Litvi- 
noff had  never  expected  from  him, — "  to  keep 
you  from  repulsing  the  dead  human  skull;  and 
perchance,  in  return  for  your  goodness,  you  will 
succeed  in  leaping  across  the  fatal  stone.  I  will 
not  detain  you  any  longer,  only  you  must  permit 
me  to  embrace  you  in  farewell." 

"  I  shall  not  even  attempt  to  leap  across,"— 
said  Litvinoff,  as  he  exchanged  the  threefold  kiss 
with  Potugin.     And  to  the  sorrowful  emotion, 

1  The  version  which  I  have  given,  "  Vasily  Buslaevitch,"  in  "  The 
Epic  Songs  of  Russia"  (Charles  Scribner's  Sons),  is  from  a  slightly 
different  original  to  the  one  here  quoted.—  Thansijuok. 

283 


SMOKE 

which  filled  his  soul  to  overflowing,  there  was 
added,  for  an  instant,  compassion  for  another 
poor  wretch.  But  he  must  go,  he  must  go.  .  . 
He  flung  himself  about  the  room. 

"  I  will  carry  something  for  you,  if  you  like." 
— Potiigin  offered  his  services. 

"  No,  thanks,  don't  trouble  yourself;  I  will 
manage  alone.  .  .  ."  He  put  on  his  hat,  took  his 
bag  in  his  hand.  —  "  So  you  say,"— he  inquired, 
as  he  was  standing  on  the  threshold,—"  that  you 
have  seen  her? " 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her." 

"  Well  .  .  and  what  of  her? " 

Potiigin  made  no  answer  for  a  while. — "  She 
expected  you  last  night.  .  .  and  will  expect  you 
to-day." 

"Ah!  Well,  then  tell  her.  .  .  No,  it  is  not 
necessary,  nothing  is  necessary.  Farewell,  .  .  . 
Farewell! " 

"  Farewell,  Grigory  Mikhailitch.  .  .  .  Let  me 
say  one  word  more  to  you.  You  will  have  time 
to  hear  me  out :  the  train  does  not  leave  for  half 
an  hour  yet.  You  are  returning  to  Russia.  .  . 
You  will  ...  in  course  of  time  .  .  .  become  active 
there.  .  .  Permit  an  old  failure — for  I,  alas!  am  a 
failure,  and  nothing  else — to  give  you  a  parting 
bit  of  advice.  On  every  occasion,  when  you  are 
obliged  to  enter  upon  an  undertaking,  ask  your- 
self: are  you  serving  civilisation, — in  the  exact 
and  strict  sense  of  the  word,— are  you  furthering 

284 


SMOKE 

one  of  its  ideas;  is  your  labour  of  that  pedagog- 
ical, European  character,  which  alone  is  profita- 
ble and  fruitful  in  our  day,  in  our  country?  If 
so — advance  boldly:  you  are  on  the  right  road, 
and  vour  affair  is  an  honourable  one!  Glory  to 
God!    You  are  not  alone  now.     You  will  not  be 

'a   sower  of  the   desert':   hard   workers 

pioneers  .  .  .  have  already  sprung  up  among  us. 
.  .  But  you  do  not  care  to  hear  about  that  now. — 
Good-bye,  do  not  forget  me!" 

Litvinoff  descended  the  stairs  at  a  run,  flung 
himself  into  a  carriage,  and  drove  to  the  railway 
station,  without  casting  a  single  glance  at  the 
town  where  so  much  of  his  own  life  was  being 
left  behind.  .  .  He  seemed  to  be  yielding  to  a  bil- 
low: it  seized  him,  swept  him  onward,  and  he 
firmly  resolved  not  to  resist  its  impulse  ...  he  re- 
nounced every  other  manifestation  of  will. 

He  was  already  entering  the  railway  carriage. 

'  Grigory  Mikhailovitch  .  .  .  Grigory  ..."  he 
heard  a  beseeching  whisper  behind  him.  He 
shuddered.  .  .  Could  it  be  Irina?  Exactly  that: 
it  was  she.  Wrapped  in  her  maid's  shawl,  with  a 
travelling  hat  on  her  unkempt  locks,  she  was 
standing  on  the  platform  and  gazing  at  him  with 
dimmed  eyes.  ?  Turn  back,  turn  back,  I  have 
come  for  thee!'  said  those  eves.  And  what, 
what  all,  did  not  they  promise]  She  did  not 
move;  she  had  not  the  strength  to  add  a  single 
word;  everything  about  her,  even  the  disorder  of 

285 


SMOKE 

her  garments,  everything  seemed  to  be  entreating 
mercy.  .  .  . 

Litvinoff  could  hardly  stand  on  his  feet,  could 
hardly  refrain  from  rushing  to  her.  .  .  .  But  the 
wave  to  which  he  had  yielded  himself  asserted  its 
power.  .  .  He  sprang  into  the  carriage,  and, 
turning  round,  he  motioned  Irina  to  a  place 
beside  him.  She  understood  him.  The  time  was 
not  past.  Only  one  step,  one  movement,  and  two 
lives  forever  united  would  have  sped  forth  into 
the  unknown  distance.  .  .  While  she  hesitated  a 
loud  whistle  rang  out,  and  the  train  started. 

Litvinoff  flung  himself  back,  and  Irina 
walked  tottering  to  a  bench  and  sank  down  upon 
it,  to  the  extreme  amazement  of  an  ex-diplomat 
who  had  accidentally  wandered  into  the  station. 
He  was  only  slightly  acquainted  with  Irina,  but 
took  a  great  interest  in  her,  and  perceiving  that 
she  was  lying  as  though  unconscious,  he  thought 
that  she  had  had  "  une  attaque  de  nerfs"  and 
consequently  regarded  it  as  his  duty,  the  duty 
d'un  galant  chevalier,  to  go  to  her  assistance.  But 
his  amazement  assumed  far  greater  proportions 
when,  at  the  first  word  he  addressed  to  her,  she 
suddenly  rose,  repulsed  the  offered  arm,  and, 
rushing  forth  into  the  street,  in  a  few  moments 
vanished  in  the  milky  cloud  of  mist,  which  is 
so  characteristic  of  the  Black  Forest  climate  in 
the  early  days  of  autumn. 


286 


XXVI 

We  once  chanced  to  enter  the  cottage  of  a  peas- 
ant woman  who  had  just  lost  her  only,  fervently- 
loved  son,  and  to  our  no  small  surprise,  we 
found  her  entirely  composed,  almost  cheerful. — 
"Let  her  alone!"  said  her  husband,  whom  this 
surprise  did  not  escape:— "  she  is  hardened  just 
now." — In  the  same  way  Litvinoff  '  was  har- 
dened." The  same  sort  of  composure  came  upon 
him  during  the  first  hours  of  his  journey.  Ut- 
terly annihilated,  and  hopelessly  unhappy,  he 
nevertheless  was  at  rest,  at  rest  after  the  tur- 
moils and  tortures  of  the  preceding  week,  after 
all  the  blows  which,  one  after  the  other,  had 
descended  upon  his  head.  They  had  shaken  him 
all  the  more  violently  because  he  was  not  created 
for  such  tempests.  He  no  longer  had  any  hope 
of  anything  now,  and  tried  not  to  remember — 
most  of  all,  not  to  remember.  He  was  going  to 
Russia  ...  he  must  take  refuge  somewhere!  but 
he  no  longer  made  any  plans  which  personally 
concerned  himself.  He  did  not  recognise  him- 
self; he  did  not  understand  his  proceedings;  it 
was  exactly  as  though  he  had  lost  his  real  "  I," 
and,  altogether,  he  felt  very  little  interest  in 
that  "  I."    Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  as  though 

287 


SMOKE 

he  were  carrying  his  own  corpse,  and  only  the 
bitter  convulsions  of  an  incurable  spiritual  mal- 
ady, which  ran  through  him  now  and  then, 
reminded  him  that  he  was  still  endowed  with  life. 
At  times  it  seemed  incomprehensible  to  him  how 
a  man — a  man! — could  permit  a  woman,  love, 

....  to  exercise  such  influence  over  him 

"A  shameful  weakness!"  he  whispered,  and 
shook  out  his  cloak,  and  settled  himself  more 
squarely  in  his  seat,  as  much  as  to  say,  There 
now,  old  things  are  done  with,  let  us  start  on 
something  new  ....  A  minute  later,  and  he 
merely  smiled  bitterly  and  felt  amazed  at  him- 
self. He  took  to  gazing  out  of  the  window. 
The  day  was  grey  and  damp ;  there  was  no  rain, 
but  the  fog  held  on,  and  low-lying  clouds  veiled 
the  sky.  The  wind  was  blowing  in  the  contrary 
direction  to  the  course  of  the  train;  whitish 
clouds  of  steam,  now  alone,  now  mingled  with 
other,  darker  clouds  of  smoke,  swept,  in  an  end- 
less series,  past  the  window  beside  which 
Litvinoff  sat.  He  began  to  watch  the  steam, 
the  smoke.  Incessantly  whirling,  rising  and 
falling,  twisting  and  catching  at  the  grass,  at 
the  bushes,  playing  pranks,  as  it  were,  lengthen- 
ing and  melting,  puff  followed  puff  ....  they 
were  constantly  changing,  and  yet  remained  the 
same  ....  a  monotonous,  hurried,  tiresome  game! 
Sometimes  the  wind  changed,  the  road  made  a 
turn — the    whole    mass    suddenly    disappeared, 

288 


SMOKE 

and  immediately  became  visible  through  the  op- 
posite window;  then,  once  more,  the  huge  trail 
flung  itself  over,  and  once  more  veiled  from 
LitvfnofT  the  wide  view  of  the  Rhine  Valley.  He 
gazed  and  gazed,  and  a  strange  reflection  oc- 
curred to  him.  .  .  He  was  alone  in  the  carriage; 
there  was  no  one  to  interfere  with  him.— 
'  Smoke,  smoke," — he  repeated  several  times  in 
succession;  and  suddenly  everything  appeared 
to  him  to  be  smoke — everything,  his  own  life, 
everything  pertaining  to  men,  especially  every- 
thing Russian.  Everything  is  smoke  and  steam, 
— he  thought; — everything  seems  to  be  con- 
stantly undergoing  change;  everywhere  there  are 
new  forms,  phenomenon  follows  phenomenon, 
but  in  reality  everything  is  exactly  alike;  every- 
thing is  hurrying,  hastening  somewhither — and 
everything  vanishes  without  leaving  a  trace,  with- 
out having  attained  to  any  end  whatever;  another 
breeze  has  begun  to  blow— and  everything  has 
been  flung  to  the  other  side,  and  there,  again,  is 
the  same  incessant,  agitated— and  useless  game. 
He  recalled  many  things  which  had  taken  place, 
with  much  sound  and  clatter,  before  his  eyes 
during  the  last  few  years  .  .  .  .  smoke,"— he 
murmured,  — "  smoke  ";  he  recalled  the  heated 
disputes,  shovings  and  shouts  at  Ghibarydff's,  and 
at  the  houses  of  other  persons,  of  high  and  of 
low  degree,  of  prominent  people,  and  of  people 
who  had  lagged  behind,  of  old  people  and  of 

280 


SMOKE 

young  .  .  .  "  smoke  " — he  repeated, — "  smoke 
and  steam  " ;  he  recalled,  in  conclusion,  the  fa- 
mous picnic  also;  and  other  judgments  and 
speeches  of  other  statesmen  also  recurred  to  his 
mind — and  even  everything  which  Potiigin  had 
preached  .  .  .  .  smoke,  smoke,  and  nothing 
more."  But  his  own  aspirations  and  feelings  and 
efforts  and  dreams?  He  merely  waved  his  hand 
in  renunciation  of  them. 

And  in  the  meantime  the  train  was  dashing  on, 
dashing  on  Rastadt,  Karlsruhe  and  Bruchsal  had 
long  since  been  left  behind;  the  mountains  on 
the  right  side  of  the  road  were  retreating,  re- 
ceding into  the  distance,  then  advanced  again, 
but  were  not  so  lofty  now,  and  were  more 
sparsely  covered  with  forests.  .  .  The  train  made 
a  sharp  turn  to  one  side — and  behold,  there  was 
Heidelberg.  The  railway  carriages  rolled  up 
under  the  shed  of  the  station;  the  cries  of  ped- 
lars, selling  every  sort  of  thing,  even  Russian 
newspapers,  resounded;  the  travellers  fidgeted 
in  their  seats,  emerged  on  the  platform.  But 
Litvinoff  did  not  leave  his  corner,  and  continued 
to  sit  with  bowed  head.  Suddenly  some  one 
called  him  by  name;  he  raised  his  eyes;  Binda- 
soff's  ugly  face  thrust  itself  through  the  win- 
dow, and  behind  him— or  did  it  only  seem  so  to 
him?— no,  it  was  a  fact:  they  were  all  faces  from 
Baden,  familiar  faces:  there  was  Madame 
Sukhantchikoff,    there    was    Voroshiloff,    and 

290 


SMOKE 

there    was    Bambaeff,    all   of   them    advancing 
toward  him — and  Bindasoff  was  roaring: 

'  And  where  is  Pishtchalkin?  We  have  been 
waiting  for  him;  but  never  mind,  crawl  out, 
soaker,  we  're  all  going  to  Gubaryoff's." 

Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  and  besides,  Gubaryoff 
is  waiting  for  us,"  Bambaeff  confirmed  his  state- 
ment, as  he  stepped  forward:—"  get  out." 

Litvinoff  would  have  flown  into  a  rage  had 
it  not  been  for  that  dead  weight  which  lay  upon 
his  heart.  He  glanced  at  Bindasoff,  and  turned 
silently  away. 

'  I  tell  you,  Gubaryoff  is  here,"— cried 
Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  her  eyes  almost  start- 
ing from  their  sockets. 

Litvinoff  did  not  stir. 
Yes,  listen,  Litvinoff,"  began  Bambaeff,  at 
last.  "  Not  only  is  Gubaryoff  here,  but  there  is 
a  whole  phalanx  of  the  most  splendid,  the  clev- 
erest young  men,  Russians, — and  all  are  devot- 
ing themselves  to  the  natural  sciences,  all  cherish 
the  most  noble  convictions!  Do  stop,  on  their 
account,  for  goodness'  sake.  Here,  for  example, 
is  a  certain  .  .  .  ekh!  I  've  forgotten  his  name! 
but  he  's  simply  a  genius!  " 

'  Come,  let  him  alone,  let  him  alone,  Rostis- 
laff  Ardalionitch!  "  —  interposed  Madame  Su- 
khantchikoff,—" let  him  alone!  you  see  what  sort 
of  a  man  he  is;  and  all  his  tribe  are  of  the  same 
sort.  He  has  an  aunt:  at  first  I  thought  her  a  sen- 

291 


SMOKE 

sible  woman,  but  day  before  yesterday  I  travelled 
hither  in  her  company— she  had  only  just  arrived 
in  Baden,  and  lo  and  behold!  back  she  flies, — well, 
sir,  I  travelled  with  her,  and  I  began  to  question 
her.  .  .  If  you  will  believe  me,  not  one  word 
could  I  get  out  of  the  haughty  creature.  The 
disgusting  aristocrat!" 

Poor  Kapitolina  Markovna— an  aristocrat! 
Did  she  ever  expect  such  a  disgrace? 

But  Litvinoff  still  held  his  peace,  and  turned 
away,  and  pulled  his  cap  down  over  his  eyes.  At 
last  the  train  started. 

"  Come,  say  something  by  way  of  farewell, 
you  man  of  stone!" — shouted  Bambaeff. 

"  You  can't  go  off  like  this!  " 

"Trash!  simpleton!" — roared  out  BindasofF. 
The  carriages  rolled  more  and  more  rapidly,  and 
he  could  revile  with  impunity.— "  Miser!  Mol- 
lusc!   Drunken  bummer ! " 

Whether  BindasofF  invented  this  last  epithet 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  or  whether  it  had 
reached  him  from  other  hands,  at  all  events  it 
evidently  afforded  great  pleasure  to  the  ex- 
tremely noble  young  men  who  were  studying  the 
natural  sciences,  for  a  few  days  later  it  made  its 
appearance  in  the  Russian  periodical  sheet,  which 
was  published  at  that  time  in  Heidelberg,  under 
the  title:  A  tout  venant  je  crache!  or  "  If  God 
does  n't  desert  you,  the  pigs  won't  eat  you."  l  2 

1  "Him  whom  God  helps,  nobody  can  harm." — Thanslatoe. 
2  A r  historical  fact- 

292 


SMOKE 

But  Litvinoff  kept  repeating  his  former  word : 
smoke,  smoke,  smoke!  Here  now,  he  thought, 
there  are  now  more  than  a  hundred  Russian 
students  in  Heidelberg;  all  are  studying  chemis- 
try, physics,  physiology — they  will  not  even 
listen  to  anything  else  .  .  .  but  let  five  or  six 
years  elapse,  and  there  will  not  be  fifteen  men 
in  the  courses  of  those  same  celebrated  profes- 
sors .  .  .  the  wind  will  change,  the  smoke  will 
rush  to  the  other  side  .  .  .  smoke  .  .  .  smoke 
.  .  .  smoke ! ' 

Toward  nightfall  he  passed  Kassel.  To- 
gether with  the  twilight,  an  intolerable  anguish 
descended  like  a  vulture  upon  him,  and,  nestling 
in  the  corner  of  the  railway  carriage,  he  began 
to  weep.  For  a  long  time  his  tears  flowed  with- 
out relieving  his  heart,  but  torturing  him  in  a 
caustic,  bitter  way ;  and,  at  that  same  time,  in  one 
of  the  hostelries  of  Kassel,  on  her  bed,  in  a  burn- 
ing fever,  lay  Tatyana;  Kapitolina  Markovna 
sat  beside  her. 

"  Tanya,"— she  said,—"  for  God's  sake,  allow 
me  to  send  a  telegram  to  Grigory  Mikhailovitch; 
do  let  me,  Tanya!  " 

*  No,  aunty,"  — she  answered,  —  "  it  is  not  nec- 
essary; do  not  feel  alarmed.  Give  me  some  water; 
this  will  soon  pass  off." 

And,  in  fact,  a  week  later  her  health  mended, 
and  the  two  friends  resumed  their    journey. 

1  LitvinofFs  presentiment  was  fulfilled.  In  1866,  then;  were  thir- 
teen Russian  Undents  in  the  summer  term,  and  twelve  in  the  winter 
term,  ul  Heidelberg. 

21)3 


XXVII 

Without  halting  either  in  Petersburg  or  in 
Moscow,  Litvinoff  returned  to  his  estate.  He  was 
frightened  when  he  saw  his  father,  so  greatly 
enfeebled  and  aged  had  the  latter  become.  The 
old  man  rejoiced  at  the  sight  of  his  son,  as  much 
as  a  man  can  rejoice  whose  life  is  drawing  to  a 
close;  he  immediately  transferred  to  him  all  his 
affairs,  which  were  in  great  confusion,  and  after 
creaking  on  a  few  weeks  longer,  departed  from 
the  arena  of  earth.  Litvinoff  was  left  alone  in 
his  ancient  wing  of  the  manor-house,  and  with  a 
heavy  heart,  without  hope,  without  zeal  and 
without  money,  he  began  to  farm  the  estate. 
Farming  an  estate  in  Russia  is  a  cheerless  affair, 
only  too  well  known  to  many  persons ;  we  will  not 
enlarge  on  the  point  of  how  bitter  it  seemed  to 
Litvinoff.  As  a  matter  of  course,  there  could  be 
no  question  of  reforms  and  innovations;  the  ap- 
plication of  the  knowledge  which  he  had  acquired 
abroad  was  deferred  for  an  indefinite  period; 
want  compelled  him  to  worry  on  from  day  to  day, 
to  consent  to  all  sorts  of  compromises, — both  ma- 
terial and  moral.  New  ideas  won  their  wav 
badly,  old  ones  had  lost  their  force;  the  ignorant 
clashed  with  the  dishonest;  his  whole  deranged 

294 


SMOKE 

existence  was  in  constant  motion,  like  a  quaking 
bog,  and  only  the  great  word  "  liberty  "  moved, 
like  the  spirit  of  God,  over  the  waters.  Patience 
was  required,  first  of  all,  and  not  passive  but 
active,  persistent  patience,  not  devoid,  at  times, 
of  tact,  not  devoid  of  guile  ....  which  Litvinoff, 
in  his  actual  spiritual  state,  found  doubly  diffi- 
cult. He  had  very  little  desire  left  to  live.  .  . 
Whence  could  he  summon  a  desire  to  bestir  him- 
self and  work? 

But  a  year  passed,  then  a  second,  the  third  was 
beginning.  The  grand  thought  was  gradually 
being  realised,  was  being  transformed  into  flesh 
and  blood:  a  sprout  was  putting  forth  from  the 
seed  that  had  been  sown;  and  its  enemies,  either 
open  or  secret,  could  no  longer  trample  it  under 
foot.  Litvinoff  himself,  although  he  had  ended 
by  giving  up  the  greater  part  of  his  land  to  the 
peasants,  on  the  rotation-of -crops  system,  that 
is  to  say,  had  returned  to  the  wretched,  primi- 
tive methods  of  farming,  yet  had  some  suc- 
cess: he  re-established  the  factory,  set  up  a  tiny 
farm  with  five  hired  labourers, — he  had  as  many 
as  forty,  at  different  times,— paid  off  the  prin- 
cipal part  of  the  debts.  .  .  And  his  spirit  grew 
firm  within  him;  again  he  began  to  resemble  the 
Litvinoff  of  former  days.  The  painful,  deeply- 
concealed  feeling,  it  is  true,  never  left  him,  and 
he  had  grown  sedate  beyond  his  years,  had 
shut  himself  up  in  his  narrow  circle,  had  broken 

205 


SMOKE 

off  all  his  previous  connections  ....  but  the 
deathlike  indifference  had  vanished,  and  again  he 
moved  about  among  the  living,  and  behaved  like 
a  living  man.  The  last  traces  of  the  witchery 
which  had  taken  possession  of  him  had  vanished 
also:  everything  which  had  taken  place  at  Baden 
presented  itself  to  him  as  in  a  dream.  .  And 
Irina?  She,  also,  had  paled  and  disappeared, 
and  it  was  only  in  a  confused  way  that  LitvinofT 
was  conscious  of  something  terrible  beneath  the 
mist  in  which  her  image  had  gradually  become 
enveloped.  News  of  Tatyana  reached  him  from 
time  to  time;  he  knew  that  she  and  her  aunt  had 
settled  on  her  little  estate,  about  two  hundred 
versts  from  him,  were  living  quietly  and  receiv- 
ing hardly  any  guests,  -and,  for  the  rest,  were 
composed  and  well. — But  one  day,  one  beautiful 
May  day,  he  was  sitting  in  his  study,  and  in- 
differently turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  last 
number  of  a  Petersburg  journal:  a  servant 
entered  and  announced  the  arrival  of  his  aged 
uncle.  This  uncle  was  the  first  cousin  of  Kapi- 
tolina  Markovna,  and  had  recently  visited  her. 
He  had  purchased  an  estate  in  Litvinoff's 
neighbourhood,  and  was  on  his  way  thither.  He 
spent  a  whole  day  with  his  nephew,  and  told  him 
a  great  deal  about  Tatyana's  manner  of  life.  On 
the  day  after  his  departure,  Litvinoff  sent  her  a 
letter,  the  first  since  their  parting.  He  requested 
permission  to  renew  the  acquaintance,  by  letter 

296 


SMOKE 

at  least,  and  also  desired  to  know  whether  he 
must  forever  abandon  the  thought  of  seeing  her 
some  day?  Not  without  agitation  did  he  await 
the  reply  .  .  .  and  a  reply  arrived  at  last.  Tatyana 
made  a  friendly  response  to  his  question.  '  If 
you  should  take  a  fancy  to  visit  us,"  she  said  in 
conclusion,  "come,  we  shall  be  glad  to  see  you: 
they  say  that  weak  people  feel  more  comfortable 
together  than  apart."  Kapitolina  Markovna 
sent  her  compliments.  LitvinofY  was  as  happy 
as  a  child ;  his  heart  had  not  beaten  so  cheerfully 
for  a  long  time.  And  he  suddenly  felt  relieved 
and  bright.  .  .  Exactly  as  when  the  sun  rises  and 
drives  away  the  shades  of  night,  a  light  zephyr 
flits  with  the  sun's  rays  over  the  face  of  the 
reviving  earth.  All  that  day  Litvinoff  did  noth- 
ing but  smile,  even  when  he  made  the  rounds  of 
his  farm  and  issued  his  orders.  He  immediately 
began  to  make  preparations  for  the  journey, 
and  two  weeks  later  he  set  off  to  Tatyana. 


21)7 


XXVIII 

He  travelled  rather  slowly  along  the  country 
roads,  without  any  particular  adventures:  only 
once  the  tire  on  one  of  the  hind  wheels  broke;  a 
blacksmith  welded  and  welded  it,  cursed  it  and 
himself,  and  then  threw  up  the  job;  luckily,  it 
turned  out  that  one  can  travel  very  well  indeed 
in  our  country  even  with  a  broken  tire,  especially 
ona"  soft  "  road,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  mud.  On 
the  other  hand,  Litvinoff  had  two  or  three  de- 
cidedly curious  encounters.  At  one  posting- 
station  he  found  a  meeting  of  justices  of  the 
peace,  and  among  their  number,  Pishtchalkin, 
who  produced  upon  him  the  impression  of  being 
a  Solon  or  a  Solomon :  such  lofty  wisdom  did  his 
speech  breathe  forth,  with  such  unbounded  re- 
spect did  both  landed  proprietors  and  peasants 
bear  themselves  toward  him:  .  .  .  and  in  his  ap- 
pearance, also,  Pishtchalkin  had  begun  to  resem- 
ble a  sage  of  olden  days:  his  hair  had  receded 
from  his  temples,  and  his  face,  which  had  grown 
fuller,  had  become  completely  petrified  into  a  sort 
of  majestic  jelly  of  virtue  unhampered  by  any- 
thing whatsoever.  He  congratulated  Litvinoff  on 
his  arrival  "  in  my  own  district — if  I  may  make 
so  bold  as  to  use  so  ambitious  an  expression," — 

298 


SMOKE 

and  thereupon,  instantly  sank  into  a  paroxysm  of 
well-intentioned  emotions.  But  he  did  succeed 
in  imparting  one  piece  of  news,  namely,  con- 
cerning Voroshfloff.  That  paladin  of  the  gilded 
classes  had  again  entered  the  military  service, 
and  had  already  managed  to  deliver  a  lecture  to 
the  officers  of  his  regiment  on  "  Buddhism,"  or 

"  dynamism,"  or  something  of  that  sort 

Pishtchalkin  could  not  remember  exactly  what. 
At  the  next  posting-station  they  did  not  harness 
LitvinofF's  horses  for  a  long  time;  the  affair 
happened  at  daybreak,— and  he  was  dozing  as 
he  sat  in  his  calash.  A  voice  which  struck  him 
as  familiar  awakened  him :  he  opened  his  eyes.  .  . 

Heavens!  was  it  not  Mr.  Gubaryoff  who  was 
standing  there  in  a  grey  round  jacket  and  flap- 
ping sleeping-trousers,  and  swearing,  on  the 
porch  of  the  posting-cottage?  .  .  .  No,  it  was  not 
Mr.  Gubaryoff.  .  .  But  what  a  startling  resem- 
blance !  .  .  .  .  Only,  this  gentleman's  mouth  was 
wider  and  fuller  of  teeth,  and  the  gaze  of  his 
dismal  eyes  was  still  fiercer,  his  nose  was  bigger, 
and  his  beard  thicker,  and  his  whole  aspect  was 
heavier  and  more  repulsive. 

"The  sca-aoundrels,  the  sca-aoundrels!  "— he 
was  repeating,  slowly  and  viciously  stretching 
his    wolfish    mouth    very    wide:  — "the    damned 

peasantry.  .  .  .  Here  you  see  it this 

lauded  liberty  ....  and  you  can't  get  any 
horses  .  .  .  the  sca-aoundrels!' 

299 


SMOKE 

'The  sca-aoundrels,  the  sca-aoundrels !  "— 
another  voice  here  made  itself  heard  inside  the 
house,  and  on  the  porch  there  presented  himself, 
— also  in  a  grey  round  jacket  and  flapping  sleep- 
ing-trousers,—presented  himself,  this  time  actu- 
ally and  indubitably,  the  genuine  Mr.  Guba- 
ryoff himself,  Stepan  Nikolaevitch  Gubaryoff. 
"The  damned  peasantry!  "—he  continued,  in 
imitation  of  his  brother  (it  appeared  that  the 
first  gentleman  was  his  elder  brother,  the 
'  Danteist  "  l  of  the  old  school,  who  managed  his 
estate. )  — "  They  ought  to  be  flogged,  that 's  what 
they  ought ;  flogged  on  their  snouts,  that 's  the 
sort  of  liberty  they  need — flogged  on  their  teeth. 

.  .  They  talk  about  .  .  .  forsooth, about  the 

mayor  of  the  district!  ...  I  '11  give  it  to  them! 
.  .  .  Yes,  and  where  's  that  M'sieu'  Roston?  .  .  . 
What  does  he  superintend  ?  .  .  .  It 's  his  busi- 
ness, the  cursed  sluggard  .  .  .  not  to  reduce  one 
to  anxiety " 

'  But  I  have  repeatedly  told  you,  brother," — 
put  in  the  elder  Gubaryoff, — "  that  he  was 
not  fit  for  anything,  a  regular  sluggard!  Only 
you,  for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  .  .  .  M'sieu' 
Roston,  M'sieu'  Roston!  ....  What  has  be- 
come of  you?  " 

"Roston!  Roston!  "—shouted  the  younger, 
the  great  Gubaryoff.  —  "  Come,  brother  Dore- 
medont  Nikolaitch,  call  him  well!  " 

"*  A  term  applied  to  cruel  serf-owners. — Translator. 

300 


SMOKE 

That 's  precisely  what  I  am  doing,  brother 
Stepan  Nikolaitch.— Monsieur  Boston!' 

'Here  I  am,  here  I  am,  here  I  am!"— a 
precipitate  voice  made  itself  heard,  and  from 
round  the  corner  of  the  cottage  sprang  forth — 
Bambaeff. 

Litvinoff  fairly  cried  aloud  in  amazement.  On 
the  ill-starred  enthusiast  mournfully  dangled  a 
hussar  jacket  abbreviated  by  wear,  with  rents  in 
the  sleeves ;  his  features  were  not  so  much  altered 
as  pinched  and  wizened;  his  extremely  uneasy 
little  eyes  expressed  slavish  terror  and  hungry 
subserviency;  but  his  dyed  moustache  bristled  up 
above  his  full  lips  as  of  old.  The  GubaryofY 
brothers  set  to  work  instantly  and  simultaneously 
to  berate  him  from  the  elevation  of  the  porch; 
he  halted  in  front  of  them,  below,  in  the  mud, 
and,  with  his  back  meekly  bowed,  endeavoured 
to  placate  them  with  a  timid  smile,  crumpling 
his  cap  in  his  red  fingers,  shifting  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  and  muttering  that  the  horses 
would  make  their  appearance  immediately.  .  . 
But  the  brothers  did  not  cease,  until  the  younger, 
at  last,  let  his  eves  fall  on  Litvinoff.  Whether 
he  recognised  him,  whether  he  felt  ashamed  in 
the  presence  of  a  stranger,  at  all  events,  he  sud- 
denly turned  on  his  heel,  in  bear-like  fashion, 
and,  gnawing  his  beard,  hobbled  into  the  posting- 
cottage;  his  brother  instantly  became  mute,  and 
turning  round,  in  bear-like  fashion  also,  followed 

801 


SMOKE 

in  his  footsteps.  The  great  Gubaryoff,  evi- 
dently, had  not  lost  his  influence  in  his  own  coun- 
try either. 

Bambaeff  was  on  the  point  of  following 
softly  after  the  brothers.  .  .  LitvinofF  called  him 
by  name.  He  glanced  round,  took  another  look, 
and,  recognising  Litvinoff,  fairly  precipitated 
himself  at  him,  with  outstretched  arms ;  but  when 
he  had  rushed  up  to  the  carriage,  and  grasped 
the  door,  he  fell  against  it  with  his  breast  and 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Stop,  do  stop,  Bambaeff," — Litvinoff  said 
again  and  again,  bending  over  him  and  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

But  he  continued  to  sob. — "  This  ....  this  .... 
this  is  what  I  have  come  to  .  .  ."  he  murmured, 
sobbing. 

"  Bambaeff!  "—thundered  the  brothers  inside 
the  cottage. 

Bambaeff  raised  his  head  and  hastily  wiped 
awav  his  tears. 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear  fellow,"— he  whis- 
pered,— "  good  morning  and  good-bye!  .... 
you  hear,  they  are  calling  me." 

"  But  how  in  the  world  do  you  come  to  be 
here?  "—inquired  Litvinoff :— "  and  what  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this?  I  thought  they  called  you 
a  Frenchman.  .  ." 

"  I  am  their  .  .  .  their  house-steward,  their 
butler,"— replied    Bambaeff,    and    jerked    his 

302 


SMOKE 

finger  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage.—"  And  I 
came  to  be  a  Frenchman  by  chance,  by  way  of  a 
jest.  What  can  a  man  do,  brother?  When  there 
is  nothing  to  eat,  you  see,  and  you  have  spent 
your  last  penny,  you  put  your  neck  into  the 
noose,  willy-nilly.  You  don't  feel  like  being  am- 
bitious." 

"  But  has  he  been  long  in  Russia?  And  how 
did  he  part  from  his  former  comrades  ? ' 

'  Ekh,  brother !  All  that  is  over  now.  .  .  The 
weather  has  changed,  you  know.  .  .  .  He  simply 
pitched  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  Matryona 
Kuzminitchna,  out,  neck  and  crop.  She  went  off 
to  Portugal,  out  of  grief." 

"  Went  to  Portugal?  What  nonsense  is 
this?" 

"  Yes,  brother,  to  Portugal,  with  two  Matryo- 
novtzys." 

"With  whom?" 

"With  the  Matryonovtzys :  that's  what  the 
adherents  of  her  faction  are  called." 

"  Has  Matryona  Kuzminitchna  a  faction,  and 
is  it  numerous?  " 

"  Why,  it  consists  of  just  those  two  men.  But 
he  returned  here  nearly  six  months  ago.  Then 
others  got  into  trouble,  but  he  's  all  right.  He 
lives  in  the  country  with  his  brother,  and  you 
just  ought  to  hear  now  .  .  .  ." 

"Bambaeff!" 

"  Immediately,    Stepan    Nikolaitch,    immedi- 

303 


SMOKE 

ately.  But  thou,  my  dear  fellow,  art  blooming, 
thou  art  enjoying  thyself!  Well,  God  be 
thanked!  Where  art  thou  bound  for  now?— 
Why,  I  never  thought,  I  never  foresaw  that.  .  .  . 
Dost  thou  remember  Baden?  Ekh,  that  was 
living!  By  the  way,  dost  thou  remember  Binda- 
soff  also?  Just  imagine,  he  is  dead.  He  ob- 
tained a  position  in  the  excise  office,  and  got  into 
a  fight  in  a  dram-shop;  and  they  smashed  his 
skull  with  a  billiard-cue.  Yes,  yes,  hard  times 
have  come  upon  us!  But  I  still  say:  Russia, 
what  a  land  this  Russia  is!  Look  even  at  that 
pair  of  geese:  surely,  in  all  Europe,  there  is 
nothing  like  them!    Real  Arzamas  fowls! ' 

And  after  paying  this  parting  tribute  to  his 
ineradicable  necessity  to  go  into  raptures,  Bam- 
baeff  ran  into  the  station-cottage,  where  his  name 
was  again  being  uttered,  not  without  a  few  em- 
phatic epithets. 

Toward  the  end  of  that  day,  Litvfnoff  drove 
up  to  Tatyana's  village.  The  little  house,  where- 
in dwelt  his  former  betrothed,  stood  on  a  hill, 
above  a  small  river,  in  the  centre  of  a  garden 
which  had  been  newly  laid  out.  The  little  house 
was  new  also,  only  just  built,  and  was  visible 
from  afar,  across  river  and  meadow.  It  revealed 
itself  to  Litvinoff  at  a  distance  of  two  versts 
with  its  pointed  partial  upper  story  and  row 
of  windows,  which  gleamed  brightly  in  the  rays 
of  the  evening  sun.    From  the  time  he  quitted  the 

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last  station,  he  had  begun  to  experience  a  secret 
agitation;  but  at  this  point  downright  consterna- 
tion seized  upon  him,  joyous  consternation,  not 
unmingled  with  a  certain  alarm.  '  How  will  they 
receive  me?" — he  thought, — "how  shall  I  pre- 
sent myself?  "...  In  order  to  divert  his  thoughts 
somewhat  he  began  to  chat  with  the  postilion,  a 
peasant  of  the  steppes,  with  a  grey  beard,  but 
who  had  charged  him  for  thirty  versts,  when,  in 
reality,  the  distance  was  not  twenty-five.  He 
asked  him:    Did  he  know  the  Shestoff  ladies? 

"  The  ShestofFs,  do  you  mean?  Of  course  I 
know  them !  Kind  ladies  they  are,  there  's  no 
denying  that!  And  they  heal  us  poor  folks  too. 
I  'm  telling  you  the  truth.  Regular  women  doc- 
tors! Folks  go  to  them  from  the  whole  county. 
That 's  so.  They  just  crawl  there  in  hordes.  No 
sooner  does  any  one  fall  ill,  or  cut  himself,  or 
anything  else,  than  he  immediately  hastens  to 
them,  and  they  immediately  apply  a  fomenta- 
tion, or  powders,  or  a  plaster, — and  that  \s  the  end 
of  it:  it  helps.  But  don't  dare  to  offer  gifts  of 
gratitude;  we  don't  consent  to  that,  say  they;  we 
don't  do  it  for  money.  They  've  set  up  a  school, 
too.  .  .  .  Well,  but  that  does  n't  amount  to  any- 
thing." 

While  the  postilion  was  talking,  Litvinoff 
never  took  his  eyes  from  the  little  house.  .  .  Now 
a  woman  in  white  came  out  on  the  balcony,  stood, 
and  stood,  and  then  vanished.  .  .  .      Gall  it  be 

805 


SMOKE 

she? '  His  heart  fairly  leapt  within  him.  "  Fas- 
ter! Faster!"  he  shouted  to  the  postilion:  the 
latter  whipped  up  his  horses.  A  few  moments 
more  .  .  .  and  the  calash  rolled  in  through  the 
open  gates.  .  .  And  on  the  porch  Kapitolina 
Markovna  was  already  standing,  and,  quite  be- 
side herself,  was  clapping  her  hands  and  scream- 
ing: "  I  recognised  him,  I  was  the  first  to  recog- 
nise him!  'T  is  he!  't  is  he!— I  recognised 
him!" 

Litvinoff  sprang  out  of  the  calash,  without 
giving  the  groom  who  came  running  up  a  chance 
to  open  the  door,  and  hastily  embracing  Kapito- 
lina Markovna,  rushed  into  the  house,  through 
the  ante-room,  into  the  salon.  .  .  .  Before  him, 
all  covered  with  confusion,  stood  Tatyana.  She 
glanced  at  him  with  her  kind,  affectionate  eyes 
(she  had  grown  a  little  thinner,  but  it  became 
her),  and  offered  him  her  hand.  But  he  did  not 
take  the  hand,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  her. 
She  had  not  in  the  least  expected  this,  and  did 
not  know  what  to  say,  what  to  do. — The  tears 
rushed  to  her  eyes.  She  was  startled,  but  her 
whole  countenance  beamed  with  joy.  .  .  .  Gri- 
gory  Mikhailitch,  what  is  this,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch  ?  "  she  said  .  .  .  but  he  continued  to  kiss 
the  hem  of  her  garment  .  .  .  and  with  emotion  he 
recalled  how  he  had  lain  on  his  knees  before  her, 

in  the  same  manner,  at  Baden But  then 

—and  now! 

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SMOKE 

"  Tanya,"— he  repeated,  over  and  over  again, 
—"Tanya!  hast  thou  forgiven  me,  Tanya?" 

'Aunty,  aunty,  what  is  this?  "— Tatyana 
appealed  to  Kapitolina  Markovna,  who  entered 
at  the  moment. 

'  Do  not  hinder  him,  do  not  hinder  him, 
Tanya,"— replied  the  kind  old  woman.  —  "  Thou 
seest  he  has  confessed  his  wrong." 

But  it  is  time  to  make  an  ending;  and  besides, 
there  is  nothing  more  to  add;  the  reader  will 
divine  the  outcome  for  himself.  .  .  .  But  what 
of  Irina? 

She  is  just  as  charming  as  ever,  in  spite  of 
her  thirty  years.  Innumerable  young  men  fall  in 
love  with  her,  and  even  more  would  fall  in  love 
with  her,  if  ....  if  ...  .  Reader,  will  not  you 
consent  to  be  transported  with  us,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, to  Petersburg,  to  one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent buildings  there?  Behold:  before  you  lies 
a  spacious  room,  furnished,  we  will  not  say 
"  richly," — that  is  too  vulgar  an  expression,— but 
imposingly,  in  a  stately,  impressive  style.  Do 
you  feel  a  certain  tremor  of  servility?  You  must 
know:  you  have  entered  a  temple,  a  temple  con- 
secrated to  the  loftiest  decorum,  to  virtue  over- 
flowing with  love — in  a  word,  to  unearthly  virtue. 
A  certain  mysterious,  actually  mysterious  silence 
receives  you  into  its  embrace.  The  velvet  por- 
tieres, the  velvet  curtains  at  the  windows,  the  soft, 

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SMOKE 

thick  carpet  on  the  floor,  all  seem  destined  and 
designed  to  soothe  and  soften  all  harsh  sounds 
and  violent  emotions.  Carefully-shaded  lamps 
inspire  dignified  feelings;  a  decorous  perfume 
is  disseminated  in  the  close  atmosphere;  the  very 
samovar  on  the  table  is  hissing  in  a  repressed  and 
modest  way.  The  mistress  of  the  house,  an  im- 
portant personage  in  Petersburg  society,  is  talk- 
ing in  a  barely  audible  tone;  she  always  speaks 
in  that  way,  as  though  there  were  a  very  critically 
ill,  almost  dying  person  in  the  room.  The  other 
ladies,  in  imitation  of  her,  barely  whisper;  but 
to-day,  her  sister,  who  is  pouring  tea,  is  moving 
her  lips  with  entire  absence  of  sound,  so  that  the 
young  man  who  is  sitting  before  her,  and  has 
accidentally  got  into  the  temple  of  decorum,  is 
even  perplexed  to  know  what  she  wants  of  him, 
and  she  rustles  at  him,  for  the  sixth  time: 
"  Voulez  vous  une  tasse  de  the? '  In  the  corner, 
young,  good-looking  men  are  to  be  seen;  mild 
deference  beams  in  their  glances;  tranquilly 
mild,  although  insinuating,  is  the  expression  of 
their  faces;  a  multitude  of  tokens  of  distinction 
glitter  mildly  on  their  breasts.  The  conversation 
which  is  in  progress  is  mild  also;  it  touches  upon 
spiritual  and  patriotic  subjects,  The  Mysterious 
Drop  by  F.  M.  Glinka,  the  mission  to  the  East, 
the  monasteries  and  brotherhoods  of  White  Rus- 
sia. From  time  to  time,  treading  noiselessly 
over  the  soft  carpet,  liveried  lackeys  pass  to  and 

308 


SMOKE 

fro;  their  huge  calves,  clothed  in  tightly-fitting 
silk  stockings,  quiver  calmly  at  every  step;  the 
respectful  quiver  of  their  stout  muscles  only  in- 
tensifies the  general  impression  of  magnificence, 
benevolence,  devoutness.  .  .  It  is  a  temple !  It  is 
a  temple! 

"  Have  you  seen  Madame  Ratmiroff  to-day? ' 
— asks  a  personage  gently. 

"  I  met  her  to-day  at  Lise's,"  replies  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  like  an  seolian  harp: — "  I  feel 
sorry  for  her.  .  .  She  has  an  embittered  mind 
....  elle  ria  pas  la  fox." 

"Yes,  yes," — repeats  the  personage; — "I 
remember  that  Peter  Ivanitch  said  that  of  her, 
and  it  was  very  truly  said — he  said  quelle  a  .  .  . 
qu'elle  a  an  embittered  mind." 

"  Elle  na  pas  la  foi—"  the  voice  of  the  hostess 
dies  away  in  the  air,  like  the  smoke  of  incense. 
— "  C'est  une  ame  egaree.  She  has  an  embit- 
tered mind." 

"  She  has  an  embittered  mind,"— repeats  her 
sister,  with  her  lips  alone. 

And  that  is  why  all  the  young  men,  without 
exception,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  Irina.  .  .  They 
are  afraid  of  her  .  .  .  they  are  afraid  of  her  "  em- 
bittered mind." 

That  is  the  form  which  the  current  phrase 
about  her  has  assumed ;  in  that  phrase,  as  in  every 
phrase,  there  is  a  grain  of  truth.     And  it  is  not 

309 


SMOKE 

the  young  men  alone  who  fear  her;  the  older 
men,  and  persons  of  high  rank,  and  even  per- 
sonages, fear  her  also.  No  one  is  capable  of 
noting  so  accurately  and  delicately  the  ridiculous 
or  the  petty  side  of  a  character,  no  one  possesses 
such  a  gift  for  pitilessly  branding  it  with  an  un- 
forgettable word.  .  .  .  And  that  word  burns  all 
the  more  painfully,  because  it  proceeds  from  a 
fragrant,  exquisitely  beautiful  mouth.  ...  It 
would  be  difficult  to  say  what  is  taking  place 
within  that  soul;  but  rumour  does  not  bestow 
upon  any  one  of  her  adorers  the  title  of  the  fa- 
voured suitor. 

Irina's  husband  is  advancing  rapidly  along 
that  road  which  the  French  call  the  road  of 
honours.  The  fat  general  is  overtaking  him ;  the 
condescending  one  is  being  left  behind.  And  in 
that  same  town  where  Irina  dwells,  dwells  also 
our  friend,  Sozont  Potiigin:  he  rarely  sees  her, 
and  she  has  no  particular  need  for  maintaining 
relations  with  him.  .  .  The  little  girl  who  was 
intrusted  to  his  guardianship  died  not  long  ago. 


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